


Layers

by Wizards_Pupil



Category: Shrek (2001), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, Dragon guarding, Dwarves, Evil Plans, Evil Plotting, Fairy Tales, Family Issues, First Kiss, Friendship, Hobbit Culture, Humor, Khuzdul, M/M, Magic, Occupied Holes, Pining, Romance, Royalty, Shrek - Freeform, Slash, Socially awkward, Transformation, True Love, beorn - Freeform, curse, greed - Freeform, towers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-02-08 03:50:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1925682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizards_Pupil/pseuds/Wizards_Pupil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which events in Erebor go rather differently than they should, and fairy tales are not as much fun to live as everyone was led to believe. No one sings about their feelings, dragons get overly attached to their wards, hobbit’s hate adventures, drinks aren’t allowed, towers suck-</p><p>And Thorin is <i>not </i>a damsel in distress.</p><p>(Regardless of what Dwalin says.)</p><p>He <i> isn’t.</i></p><p>A fairytale AU loosely inspired by Shrek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Thorin is bored

**Author's Note:**

> Another fairy-tale inspired story :) This is one that won't leave me alone and keeps making me laugh. So I figured I'd share it with all of you :) Let me know what you think!

Life was a funny thing. It was something one was stuck in, with very little choice as to how it would progress. It was something that was supposedly changeable, but that no one actually bothered to explain _how_ to change.

it was made up of endless moments that bled together. Endless duties and choices that eventually made an individual what they were.

Thorin had lived for a hundred and sixty eight years made up of such moments. He’d had very little in the way of choices, but an endless amount of the duties.

And he was so tremendously bored of them.

Every cursed day was the same. He rose with the sun and ran through his home. After an hour of such exercise, he lit the fires for breakfast and went to the bathing chamber to clean himself. He then returned to the kitchen to greet his mentor and enjoy breakfast with the teacher and his guard. They then went to the upper most balcony and surveyed the land they could see. If anything exciting could be seen, Balin would teach on it. Otherwise, they turned to their books while Dwalin cleaned the swords, axes, and spears.

They were impeccably clean, as they had never been used in actual battle.

They then went to eat a lunch that was prepared for them-he’d never asked how. After their meal they went to the lowest level, at the heart of the house. Dwalin sparred with him and taught him how to wield every weapon they had. He had mastered over twenty types. Balin would tend to records at that time. He wrote in a language that Thorin didn’t know.

They went over smithing after dinner. On occasion they would sit on the balcony and enjoy a smoke.

It wasn’t a poor life, but it was a dull one. It was simple and very well worn. Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin could do it all with very little, if any, thought.

Because there was _nothing_ else they could do. For a hundred years, Thorin had followed the same routine.

He could not recall the feel of grass beneath his feet. He had never danced in the sunlight or slept against a tree. He had never seen the sea, and had never delved into its cool depths.

He had lived nearly his entire life in this tower. At least, he had very few memories of a time before the tower. He supposed it was something he should be grateful for. It had always been there, and Thorin had always been a part of it, as had Balin and Dwalin.

Sometimes, when the nights were long and the darkness thick, he would feel the urge to weep for his friends. Never for himself. He had ceased weeping for himself before he had come of age. This was his life. The jail gilded to look like a castle.

But his friends… He had never received a true answer to any of his inquires as to why they were with him. They had simply, like him, been there. Yet he knew they had chosen to do so, where he had been forced. How could one ever repay such friendship? Such loyalty?

And it was all because of his Grandfather’s madness.

When he was younger, before the tower, he had lived in a beautiful mountain. Erebor. Just the name was enough to make something fierce ache in his chest.

It did not do to dwell on such things.

The tower was his home until he was freed from it. It was guarded by the best defenses, and the likes of _anyone_ freeing him were not high.

Not to mention the curse that was also in place. His captor had been exceedingly thorough.

The sun was especially bright the morning that life would change. He’d woken to the sound of spring birds calling for mates and pushed himself stiffly out of his fur-strewn bed. He’d greeted the day with a nod and stretch before slipping out of his bed. He could feel the tingling in his spine that signaled it was Friday. The curse would once again take effect that evening.

He still had nearly twelve hours to enjoy before the sun set though.

He slipped off his bed and shoved his feet into boots before donning a clean tunic. He swept his hair back in a thick braid and secured it with a bit of leather. He stretched his arms and legs and then jogged out of his room. The hall was empty, as always. He ran down the length of it, keeping his ears trained to anything out of the ordinary. The walls, which had once been brightly painted and were now faded from years of neglect, flashed by in a stream of familiar, muted colors. He ran through corridors, down stairs, under arches, and over slim bridges.

He knew every stone, every brick, and every corner of this tower.

The kitchen was cool from neglect through the night. The wood was sitting out, ready to be used. He piled it and its kindling into the fire place and tended it until he had a fair fire blazing. He enjoyed the way it chased away the kitchen’s chill for a moment before stiffly rising. He stepped back to inspect his work and gave his head an approving nod. A turn on his heel followed by a few steps and he was out the door. He heard a rumble coming from the floor, deep in the house and fought the urge to sigh.

His protector was up then. Likely put out by the cheerful morning birds. He was typically of a dark mood on Fridays. Thorin suspected it was fury at not being able to reach him in the nights.

That was enough to make him shiver with distaste. He had no wish to know why a dragon would want his company.

He made his way back to the upper levels until he was at the chamber next to his room. The bath was already filled, and towels had been laid on a table along with a brush and hair oil.

It was all the same as it had always been.

He took his time in the bath, trying to soothe his already sore muscles. There was an ache deep in his chest that wouldn’t be relieved until tomorrow morning.

Finally, when he began to prune and there was no longer any excuse for waiting in the tub, he climbed out. He braided two plaits into his hair and secured them with beads before redressing. Satisfied with his appearance, and needing to move to relieve the ache, he left the bathing chamber and went back down to join his friends for the morning meal.

“There you are, lad. Mind grabbing the butter?” Balin’s cheerful tones rose above the sound of a discontent growl in the basement. Dwalin came in behind Thorin, brushing his arm as he passed through the narrow door. Thorin put the butter on the table as Balin brought scones and bacon. Dwalin put the plates down and sat down ungracefully. He wouldn’t really wake up until after he’d eaten and had a drink.

“How are you fairing?” Balin asked with gaiety that Thorin could easily see through.

“Well enough. What are we studying this morning?”

“Well, you can either study language or history. Which would you prefer?”

“History.” Dwalin muttered into his bacon. Thorin raised an amused eyebrow and noted that Balin was smiling.

“We’re onto Sindarin. My brother doesn’t care for it.”

“I can’t take any more of their wimpy syllables. I’ll take stories any day.”

“Surely there is another language we could learn?”

Balin shrugged. “Not one that I’m versed in, or have the books for.” He tore a scone in half and generously buttered it. “So we’ll do history.” He shrugged. “Might calm our guard downstairs. He gets tetchy when you do languages.”

Dwalin shared a look with him. He didn’t approve of the dragon’s attachment either. He’d actually cursed the dragon quite heatedly once when he’d cornered Thorin on a run.

He could still feel the warmth of the dragon’s tongue on his skin. It had been terrifying. He had not ventured to the lower chamber since. It had been years, but he could still hear the dragon calling for him long into the night on Fridays.

“History it is.” Thorin stated. He scooped some bacon onto his plate, avoiding Dwalin’s seeking hands while doing so. The dwarf glared at him and grabbed a bit more bacon. Balin ignored them both and their squabble over the bacon and continued to enjoy his scone.

The morning passed by slowly with Balin reading from the books of history and occasionally reciting bits of verses he remembered. Thorin would then recite them back until he had it perfectly.

Lunch came and went in much the same manner until it was evening. The forge was delightfully warm, and Thorin sought it out like a cat seeking a spot of sun to nap in. The heat of the fire spread over his skin, soothing the ache that had become keener the longer the day dragged on. He stepped as near to the heat of the forge as he could and let it sink into his very bones.

“No closer, Thorin. You’ll burn your hair. It takes years to grow back out.” Balin warned.

“Let him.” Dwalin huffed with a slam of his hammer.  “He looked ridiculous last time and we could do with the laugh.” Thorin glared and stepped back. The ache rose back up, more fiercely than it had the previous time.”

“We’ve only a bit till sunset.” Balin added. “Wouldn’t you rather be in the-”

“No.” Thorin’s tone held no room for argument. “I would rather here. The heat eases the pain.” He glanced out the window that sat high in the room. He could see a dark blue bleeding into purple. They had little time, if any. He could already feel the change happening in his chest.

“Do you have the bandages, Dwalin?”

“Of course.” Dwalin set his hammer and tongs aside and dusted his hands off on his apron. “We have done this thousands of times. Why do you always ask?”

Thorin smiled to himself and closed his eyes. Balin always panicked pre-transformation. He enjoyed the care, and the worry helped to distract his mind from the pain and the way his skin was crawling.

He could feel it pushing against his skin. The cursed of himself straining to be free of his skin, and free of the pull to come forth. He wanted to shout, to run, to tear at his skin and dive into the fire. It wanted to be free.

Even his cursed half could not stand to be controlled.

His head was pounding and his hairs were standing on end. His skin ached in a terrible way, and his nose itched.

“Lad?” Balin’s voice sounded through the roaring in his ears. “take two steps back, you’ll hit the anvil if you do it here.” Dwalin’s hands landed on his arm and pushed him where Balin wanted him. He couldn’t see any longer. Dwalin hissed through his teeth at the sting of touching his skin (trails of smoke would be twirling up from where his hands touched Thorin’s arms) but he betrayed no other pain to the agony of the fire that Thorin would feel like.

“Thank you,” he managed, and his voice sounded horrible. A raw growl that sounded as if his throat had been scratched out.

And then it happened. Thorin doubled over, grabbing his stomach as pain hit. There was no other word that fit, just pain. The ‘charchel’ as his captor had dubbed it. The pain of all pains.

It was his body stretching, breaking apart, ripping, tearing, expanding, and folding in on itself to become something completely new. His chest and head burned, and his blood boiled in its veins. His organs exploded to reform into a different shape in a different location, and he felt his heart stop as it too changed it’s shape.

Agony poured through him with each beat of his new heart. He screamed out, unable to hold so much pain in and felt Dwalin and Balin shift at his side. They couldn’t aid him in this. No one could.

He was on his hands and knees on the ground with his head pressed into the warm stone as he would try to pant in air. His body was longer, sleeker than it had been, but his skin still changed. It went from the pale, smoothness of flesh to hard, dark scale. His face burned as his jaw cracked and stretched to accommodate his new shape. Finally his last bones snapped into place, and he was no longer transforming.

He panted against the ground, his vision slowly returning as he unfurled his wings and pushed up on his legs. He felt wobbly, but he managed to stand. He took a moment to become accustomed to his new shape and then slipped his eyes open. Colors were oddly sharper in this form, but none so clear as gold. He could see strands of it in Balin’s clothes and Dwalin’s weapons. He opened his mouth to stretch his jaw and huffed out a breath through his nostrils.

“Alright?” Balin asked. Thorin nodded his dragon head and stretched his wings.

“Alright.”


	2. In Which Intruders appear

Thorin's head was pounding, which really wasn't anything new, and he was lying in a pile of furs, which also wasn't new. He was lying on his back, clothed only in overly long trousers, still not new, sadly, and he was covered in abrasions and bits of soot.

Balin’s hand was over his mouth, and Dwalin was holding him still by both shoulders. That was very new.

“What?” He tried to ask, but it came out a muffled mumble. Balin’s eyes flittered down to look at him before lifting to look at something far away. He was frowning and Dwalin was glaring.

They weren’t in his room. They always returned him to his room so he could sleep off the aches of transformation. They were in the storage space beside Dwalin’s room.

He couldn’t remember what had happened.

“What?” He tried again, a bit louder. Balin’s eyes returned to his and he frowned more pronouncedly.

“You with us, laddie?” He nodded his head as well as he could. He was only a little dizzy from transforming back to a human.

“Arrâsumu has left his dungeon.” (fire worm) The grey eyes of his advisor settled on him and Dwalin’s grip tightened. “He’s stalking the lower halls.”

“Why?” He kept his voice quiet as Balin’s.

“Because there is an intruder.” That fully caught Thorin’s pained attention. Dwalin looked down at him with a scowl.

“We think. Balin and I saw two riding towards the tower in the night. Arrâsumu must have smelled them.” A roar sounded and the very ground he was reclined on shook.  It grew warmer and Dwalin shifted him around so that they could more easily reach their weapons. Two axes and a sword.

“Who would try and get in the tower? None have tried for decades.”

“Well, dragon’s tend to discourage visitors. Not to mention how many did try and reach us.”

Another roar sounded, more frustrated than the last. Something that might have been hope fluttered to life in Thorin’s chest. It was something that he had not felt in a long time.

No one had tried to reach them in such a long time. There had been no one brave enough. He was not worth enough to rescue when there was a dragon standing in the way. Not when Erebor had two other heirs and his king would hardly part with a great deal of gold.

Who would risk death to free him? Who would dare to try and break the long standing curse?

“So we hide?”

“Because Arrâsumu looks for you.” Dwalin ground out. His eyes were intent on the door. “He seems to have taken it personally.

“The intruders?”

“The fact that you hissed at him when he tried to draw near you and then went and headed for the door.” A slight smile curled the stoic dwarf’s lips. “We barely wrangled you up here. Whoever is trying to enter is the only reason he didn’t follow you.”

Balin shifted uneasily. “Which is a good thing. He was not going to take no for an answer this time, and I don’t think we could have stopped him.”

At that moment the door pushed open and two figures ducked in before shutting the door behind themselves. They immediately pushed their bodies flat against the door with their ears pressed to it, completely unaware of the three that were already inside.

They were both short, but one was slightly taller than the other. He was a dwarf, young looking, with gingery-brown hair that was cut in a simple style and braided with several family braids. He wore knitted clothes that had been torn from what looked like a rough life, and he had a pack that was hung over his shoulder. He had an air of refinement about him, that was very much at odds with his bedraggled appearance.

The other was slightly shorter, and far smaller. He wasn’t a dwarf, and Thorin wasn’t certain what he was. He was dressed in a red jacket that was about as ripped as his dwarf companion, and wore brown breeches that fell to just below his knee. He had curly hair, something Thorin had never seen, and it was somewhere between gold and red. His feet were bare, and larger than any creature Thorin had seen. The tip of a curved ear poked between his curls and Thorin was rather at a loss of what he was. He was young as well, and looked irritated.

An odd reaction to being chased by a dragon.

“This is all far more difficult than I was led to believe.” he complained to his companion as he pressed his ear closer.

“I think ducking through the kitchen threw him off.” The dwarf said. “Bilbo, do you think that-” They both paused together and, in time, turned to look at Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin. Their eyes went comically wide and darted to each other before looking back at them.

“Err,” the smaller one, Bilbo apparently said, “hello.” Dwalin reached very deliberately towards his axe with a glare that would have spoiled milk. Thorin pushed himself up, painfully aware of his lack of dress, and Balin sat up straighter as well. Bilbo’s eyes followed Dwalin’s movement.

“I guess we found them?” the dwarf whispered. Thorin thought he probably didn’t know he was speaking. He was staring, far harder than he should, but he had not seen anyone new in so long a time.

“Hello,” Bilbo said again. He managed a smile, but remained pressed against the door. “I’m Bilbo Baggins, hobbit of the Shire and this is my… companion, Ori of Ered Luin.” He looked them all over, his green eyes darting over each dwarf until he landed on Thorin. They stopped moving and took in his face. Thorin looked back in turn, holding the gaze until Bilbo slowly blinked. He fidgeted against the door and curled his hands into fist. “We’ve come to rescue you, your majesty.”

“Then you’ve gone about it wrong, laddie.” Balin huffed. Dwalin stood up and put himself in front of the other two. Thorin, free from Bilbo’s gaze, resisted the urge to shiver. He hadn’t thought about his rescue since he’d been attacked by Arrâsumu. It had seemed nothing more than an impossibility.

Bilbo seemed to take offense. “Well, as it’s _our_ rescue, we’ll decide how it goes. Okay?” Thorin stood up slowly, feeling a little woozy. His limbs still ached dully from the change. Balin joined him as Dwalin passed them both weapons.

“As it’s our lives, we'll say what we want. You’ve not done anything but enter and infuriate Arrâsumu.”

“Who?” The dwarf, Ori, asked. Dwalin’s eyes darted to him and he blushed.

“The dragon. The one who is now roaring up and down the halls?”

“Oh.” They shared another glance that Thorin didn’t understand. The dwarf shifted on his feet and released the door. The hobbit followed suit and put his hands behind his back in an effort to look more suitable. “That hardly matters. We’ve come to retrieve you from the tower, and we’re halfway there.”

Who on earth was this? He wasn’t royalty, that was obvious. They both spoke of well breeding, but they were missing the indefinable air that royalty possessed. They felt more common than that.

“That won’t do it, laddie.” Balin grunted. “The curse said-”

“That you have to be freed from the tower of your imprisonment. We’re doing that. Now, if you’d please. We have a route planned out but we’re wasting time. Dragons dislike the sun and we intend to use that to our full aid.” Bilbo said calmly but firmly in a manner that left no room for any questions. He returned Dwalin and Balin’s stares steadily.

Thorin pushed past both his dwarves and nodded his head. He saw a chance and he was going to take it. He had no idea why these two wanted to free him, why there were two instead of one, or if they intended to follow the second half of the curse, but he was willing to try.

He wanted to stand in the sunlight. He wanted to feel the grass beneath his feet, wind in his hair, and smell a new day rise. He wanted to explore caves and reacquaint himself with the deep places of a mountain. He wanted to be free of this dismal tower. To learn what it was to _live_.

He didn’t know what Bilbo and Ori were about, but he would use them to get free if he had to. He trusted Balin’s brain and Dwalin’s brawn. They would see him safe if at all possible.

And Arrâsumu would not kill him. The dragon was far too fond to do something so permanent.

Once he was free of the accursed tower he would focus on the other part of the curse. He had an entire week before he transformed again. There wasn’t anything to worry about in that regard. That was plenty of time to find shelter.

“Then lead on. I Thorin, firstborn son of Thrain, heir to the throne of Erebor will follow.” Balin glared at him and Dwalin growled a threat in khuzdul but he paid it no heed. They had come to rescue him. That was their goal, to get rescued. To break the curse.

“Thorin,” Bilbo murmured.

“I know.” He replied.  “Mâ oserej mâin binduninâl. Uaz mâ mezel.”(we cannot depart this place without aid. This is our chance.) He spoke the khuzdul quietly, and Balin stilled at the sound of it. His eyes remained on the hobbit and dwarf, yet Thorin watched as his tension slowly eased.

“You are sure?”

“Osa.” (No.) Thorin replied as cheerfully as he could. He hefted the sword up a little higher and took another step towards the hobbit. “Lead on, Master Baggins.”

The hobbit’s face lit like the first sunrise of spring.

Why had he sought Thorin out?

“Brilliant!” He fumbled for the doorknob without turning to face the door. His hand finally closed around it and he gave it a twist. “Ori will take the rear. We’ll need to be quick. Because... You know... Dragon and everything.”

“What is your plan if you run into the dragon?” Dwalin grumbled while he pile two axes on his back and took up a war hammer. Balin took an odd weapon that was somewhere between an axe and a sword. Thorin was quite content with his sword. It was long, curved, and well balanced. He’d never seen it before, but the weapons in the enchanted tower changed all the time.

“After you.” Thorin stepped forward again, cutting Dwalin off. He felt the dwarf’s glare but ignored it. They were wasting time. The roars were already getting louder.

Bilbo wrenched the door open and slipped out. A heartbeat passed, and then he called out faintly. “Clear!”

They followed him out of the room, Thorin after Bilbo, Dwalin and Balin trailing him, and Ori bringing up the rear. They made their way down the hallway, rounded the corner, and took the back staircase down. It was a path that Thorin had run every other morning. He followed along the familiar path with his body too tense and his mind oddly quiet. He was aware of each step and the air felt cool.

And silent.

Arrâsumu had not made another noise since they left the closet. Thorin was distantly aware of the fact, but it didn’t strike him as terribly important. He was far too focused on not making any additional noises to pay it heed.

They reached the bottom of the twisting staircase and Bilbo led the way down another long bridge. His large feet were silent against the stone and his body moved along with it in a surprisingly graceful way.

He had never seen a hobbit before. He’d heard a few tales when he was younger, and he’d heard Balin read something about them once or twice, but they were never supposed to be seen outside of their home.

Why would one look for him?

He was quickening his pace, intending to ask the hobbit why he was in the tower, when a booming roar shattered the silent air.

It had been too quiet.

A blur of red and grey blew past his vision and then he felt himself being pushed to the left before he could get any kind of bearing. The ground disappeared from under his feet and he fell through open air.

There was no time for terror. His breath barely whooshed from his body when he was caught in a giant hand. Claws tightened around his chest and crushed his bare skin.

He shouted before he even knew what he was about. Pain bloomed in his sensitive chest and his heart pounded. He  gasped wildly at the gold eye that peered down at him while Arrâsumu turned around on the narrow bridge.

“Thieves! Murderers! You would dare to steal what is mine?” He bellowed, his deep voice nearly hoarse with hate. Thorin couldn’t think past the lack of air. He tried to inhale but his lungs didn’t seem to work quite right. His arms were pinned to his side and he barely managed to keep a hold on the sword.

The minute Arrâsumu gave him a window, he would stab at him.

“I am not yours, beast.” he growled out with what little air he had. He glared at the hate filled eyes with all the fury and command he possessed.

There was a truly terrifying moment with heat and moist air in his face. The gold eyes loomed in front of him, and then the creatures maul was once again engulfing his vision.

“You are _mine_ , dragon son.” The forked tongue flicked out and pressed against his cheek. It was wet beyond belief, and covered him from jaw to brow with a nearly scorching heat. The dragon’s claws curled tighter around his chest and he very nearly cried out from the pain of it. “No other shall ever have you!”

He was lifted into the air quite suddenly, and then, his limbs flailing, brought tight to the dragon’s chest. There was no room to breathe, and everything was hard and warm.

The claws pressed too hard and the stomach was too hot, and he could not get any air as the dragon slid him lower. He had a horrible moment of realization, coupled with a feeling of utter helplessness, that only grew worse as his vision started to darken.

Then he was falling. He collided with the ground on his side, hacking violently. He couldn’t see, and couldn’t hear pass the roaring in his ears. His hand went to his throat, holding it protectively as he tried to inhale.

Air, glorious and sweet, filled his lungs. He exhaled it and inhaled more as he was hauled to his feet once more. He recognized the smell of clover, which Balin used to aid his joints, and felt the soft brush of his mentor’s coat as his vision finally fully returned.

Dwalin was running back towards him with Ori on his heels, but Bilbo was not with him. A quick scan of the room revealed the hobbit to be standing under the dragon. His leg was bleeding slightly and there were several scales missing from what looked like an axe wound.

Bilbo had a strange bauble in his hands that he was chanting something over. He made a complicated hand motion and then thrust it up into the dragon’s face. It grew bright as a star and then burst as he tossed it upwards. The hobbit took two quick steps backwards and then spun on his heel. He ran towards Thorin and Balin, who the other two dwarves had joined. His hands waved in the air and his face was panicked.

“Run!”

As if anyone needed to be told to do so.

 

 


	3. In Which They Try and Sneak Away

His father had acted odd all day. He hadn’t seen his grandfather since the previous morning, and his siblings were not permitted to leave the nursery.

It had rained and he was forced to stay in doors. He could still remember the sound of the crashing thunder and the hypnotic, repetitive, symphony of rain falling against the rocks. Balin was tasked with teaching the ‘diplomatic’ lessons of the day. It was his least favorite lesson, but one of the more necessary ones. Dwalin was with them. They would be allowed to do weapon training afterwards. Dwalin was three levels above him, and was working on training.

The minutes ticked by in a dreadfully slow manner.

The air of the palace had been off. He’d noticed it then, but it hadn’t occurred to him to learn why.

He’d been so much younger.

“And you should put your lady on…” Balin dragged the question out, waiting for Thorin to answer. He forced his gaze away from the dancing fire and back onto the dwarf.

“On my left. So that I may sweep her behind myself and draw my sword at the same time. It is my duty to protect her in the event of danger. Her honor to be guarded.” Balin nodded his head and flipped to the next page.

“And what of-” The ground shook and the walls trembled. Thorin jerked in shock, and caught the table in his grips as a loud roar filled the halls behind them. It echoed around the room and vibrated through the furniture.

He stood up without waiting for the noise to stop and headed towards the door. His blood thrummed in his veins and his heart felt like it skipped a few beats. The ruckus had come from the heart of the castle. He had a terrible feeling that it was coming from the throne room.

He ran from memory, dread flooding his chest and heart at each step he took.

He never made it to the throne room.

“Freeze!” A terrible voice screamed and he found himself unable to move. He was thrown into the air and forced to turn towards where he had just come from. A shining figure in robes of numerous colors strode towards him. He had long hair that was nearly all white, save for a sprinkling of dark grey at the roots. His eyes were pale as starlight and hard as the ice at the top of the mountain.

He hardly felt real. He certainly did not belong in Erebor, Thorin wasn’t even certain he belonged in Middle Earth.

“Where is your grandfather, Mountain’s son?” His voice seemed to come from everywhere. From the ceiling, the floor, the walls, it reverberated in the air and his body. “He has much to answer for.”

Thorin kept his mouth shut, he couldn’t move. His body burned and his heart pounded pointlessly. He tried to gasp, but there was no air to be had.

“Gimlûn!” His father, appearing from the direction he had been running to, shouted. “Unhand my son! I am the one you have quarrel with.”

The shining being turned his gaze onto Thrain with disdain. “No, you are not. Your father is the one that has taken what was sacred.”

“He did not know.”

“Yet still he clings to it. He has only to return it to its home.”

“Or?” The being’s eyes flashed and Thorin felt a deep thrum of fear that he was helpless to fight against. His skin felt woefully cold and his heart stuttered off rhythm.

“Your son will suffer. For the insult and treachery that your father has caused, I will bring ruin to your son. Listen well, stone born.” He inhaled deeply and his eyes turned cold.

“From this day I call a curse upon your house.

_To live surrounded by stone_   
_Forgotten of all lost from a throne_   
_The dwarf will reside in his prison_   
_With the fire worm that has risen_

_Never free to leave these throes_   
_Until from outside one shows_   
_The son will forever_   
_And he only will be the sever_

_Live one way, and then forced to another_   
_Thus shall be your daily norm_   
_Until found is one made to match no other_   
_And you find the truth of form.”_

Darkness surrounded him, and he knew no more.

-[]-[]-[]-

That had been so many years ago. Thorin only remembered it as one remember a dream. Hazy and unsure. He wasn’t certain what was true, and what was imagination.

Balin and Dwalin had told him more later. When he’d woken in his new prison, alone and cold. They had told him that the creature-they had no idea what it was - had told them how the curse would be broken.

They could only escape their prison if someone from outside led the way. He was cursed to spend his days in the tower until he was freed, and then he had to wed to be rid of his other… form. Only if he found his One, would he be freed. His One would be the one that sought him. That freed him of the curse his grandfather’s greed had brought on them.

They hadn’t found out about the dragon until later. That had been quite the surprise.

Right now, they made it down another passage before Bilbo pushed them into a closet. The window had been thrown open, unlocked from the outside.

Thorin, still leaning heavily on Balin, stared at it dumbly in surprise.

None of the windows in the tower opened. They were charmed so that it was impossible for Thorin, Balin, or Dwalin to get out. The one door was the same way. The walls were enchanted to be immune to weathering and any damage one attempted to inflict.

They had spent the first several years trying to break out of the tower, and several other years, despite the curse. It had never worked of course. Still, it did pass the time.

“Oh,” Balin breathed with a slight hitch in his voice. He took a half step towards the door before stopping and redoubling his grip on Thorin.

He was fairly certain his arm was dislocated and his foot was throbbing in a way that was far from pleasant. He hadn’t examined his chest but he was fairly certain it was more colorful than it had been when he’d first woken.

A gentle breeze floated through the room. It cooled his fevered skin and brought the scent of spring.

Thorin found it impossible to move for several moments. His feet felt heavier than the dragon’s paw and his mind was nothing more than a quiet rush of wonder. He felt like a child on yule morning when they received their very first bead.

“You mean for us to get out through the window?” Dwalin asked. he sounded vaguely insulted. Bilbo huffed between panted breaths and propped his hand on his hips.

“Yes. We can’t very well go through the door. The dragon is sitting in front of it. Besides, we’ve already arranged everything for this exit. Now will you please just go?”

“I think one of us should lead, then his majesty, then Balin, then Dwalin, and the last of us.” Ori offered politely. His left hand was clasped around a slingshot and his right hand was gripping the fabric of his sweater.

“Right. Good idea. Me first then? Bill might react better.” The hobbit gave a large smile that felt a bit thin to Thorin, and went to the window. He hefted himself up a bit shakily and then sat on the ledge for a moment. He motioned Thorin forward.

Thorin took a deep breath and moved his arm from Balin’s shoulder. He shifted his weight away from his friend and released the breath. He crossed the floor in a few short steps, wondering at the strange numbness he felt. He was hardly aware of moving or the room he was moving through until he was right in front of Bilbo. The hobbit smiled at him, eye level from his perch on the window, and leaned slightly closer.

He had very green eyes. Thorin could not recall ever seeing green eyes. They were fascinating.

Who was this creature? He had powerful magic to stop Arrâsumu, and he was clever enough to know how to get in and out. Why had he come to free Thorin? Why did he want to wed him? Surely he was already in possession of a vast wealth to have such magical weapons.

“Follow right after. I imagine your fiery friend will be following after in a moment.” He winked, and then he was climbing down a vine to the ground. It wasn’t a very far drop, but it stole Thorin’s breath away. His fingers tingled and the stone felt woefully cold under his hand. He hadn’t even felt himself reach out for it. Bilbo reached the bottom and waved his hand at Thorin.

“You’re turn, laddie.” Dwalin whispered. He hadn’t heard the dwarf approach. His breath caught in his throat and the ground suddenly felt very unsteady. He could feel the air from outside, fresh and untainted, and feel the slightest bit of heat from the sun.

Outside. It was something so simple that nearly everyone took for granted. A simple privilege they hardly even enjoyed.

Freedom.

He simply had to climb out the window and it would be his. The thing he had only wished for in the deepest sleep when his mind was unguarded and he could not protect his heart from the most painful desire… The thing he had never thought he could obtain.

It was half of what he had longed for since he could remember. The other half… Well, he would find out when they stopped for the night.

He pulled himself up onto the ledge, ignoring the pain in his limbs and chest as he did so, and considered the vine. He took a moment to adjust his grip, and swung down. The climb was simple enough, if a little odd, and then he was on the ground.

There had been no time to retrieve his boots- he was still in nothing but his trousers- but he did not care.

The grass was warm between his toes. It tickled faintly, but it was a delicious sensation. The air was thick around him, and the sun was warm. He could hear birds and bugs, and he half imagined that the trees in the distance were dancing.

“Your steed.” A rein was thrust into his hand. He forced himself to focus and gripped the leather in his hand.

“Thank you, Master Baggins.” He pushed all his swirling thoughts to the back of his mind and considered the brown pony that was looking at him. He was a fluffy pony with a light tan mane and dark eyes that looked to be judging him.

He held the gaze and stepped toward the hobbit who was climbing on his own pony.

“That was unpleasant.” Balin commented as he dropped by Thorin’s side. Dwalin joined them a moment later, and then Ori was coming down. They climbed onto their horses.

“How did you manage to get it open?” Dwalin asked quietly, looking up at the window with a frown.

“Oh,” Ori flushed and smiled in a pleased manner. “I picked it.”

“Brilliantly.” Bilbo added absently as he lead Bill to the front of the pack.

“It was a simple barrel lock. Easy enough to pick. Better than a box lock at any rate.” He shrugged a shoulder and lifted his eyes. Thorin raised his eyebrow when their eyes met. The dwarf hardly seemed the type to know how to pick locks.

“My brother.” He mouthed with a little, shy, smile.

“We need to make it to the heart of the woods by nights end. Dragons have a hard time smelling anything through the trees.” Then, without another word, Bilbo kicked his heels into the pony’s side and they charged forward. The dwarves all urged their pony’s forward as well and followed after.

Thorin shared a long look with Balin and Dwalin. Neither dwarf looked particularly happy.

He urged his pony forward without a word. The woods danced in the distance, calling him to an uncertain future.

-[]-[]-[]-

Thorin had forgotten that riding for hours was not pleasant. His chest was throbbing, and his entire body felt oddly tingly. The repetitive motion was not kind to his already wrenched leg, and he was certain it would not be a pleasant night.

It took about a half hour of riding for what had just happened to really sink in. They were in the might forest that he had caught glimpses of from his tower, and had several more hours of riding before they would call it an evening.

They weren’t galloping any longer as the woods made it impossible to do so. They hadn’t heard a single shout from Arrâsumu. Whatever Bilbo had used on him, it was effective.

He was no longer in a tower.

It was strange to think of, and he really didn’t want to keep riding when the full reality of that fact hit him. His hands began to tremble against the rein and he was certain he would have fallen if he had been standing. As was he had to slump closer to this pony and focus on breathing.

He was out of the tower. He wasn’t bound to that prison anymore. He could do things. Explore Middle Earth and see his family again.

He would send a raven to his siblings. The longing to see them again was bone deep. He had not seen them since they were children. Who knew what they were like now.

Half of his curse was defeated.

It was good that his pony was apparently attached to Bilbo’s steed, because he could not direct it. He was too wound up in thinking of everything that he could do with his new found freedom.

“Here will suffice.” Bilbo called suddenly. He pulled his pony to a stop and turned him around so that he blocked the way forward. Thorin pulled his own ride to a stop, blinking himself back to attention.

Bilbo’s eyes were on his chest with a frown tugging his lips down. His hair was falling in his eyes and he flicked it away with an annoyed motion. “We need to tend to your injuries. Lord Denethor won’t be pleased if you’re hurt.”

“Lord Denethor?” Thorin sat up straighter and gripped the reins more firmly. “Who is he?”

“Your betrothed.” Bilbo answered with a frown. Thorin’s heart skipped a beat and the reins loosened in his hold. He managed to keep a straight expression, but he very nearly betrayed his shock.

Bilbo was not the one that was going to cure his curse?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little more back story for you all. This is loosely inspired by Shrek, which a few of you guessed ;)


	4. Chapter 4

They had slipped from their horses and Bilbo was pulling down a large pack from the back of his.

“Denethor is the one who sent us for you. Sort of.” Ori commented from the back of the group. Dwalin growled something that Thorin couldn’t make out. The dwarf was struggling with one of his axes and his pony was shying away. Ori reached out and patted it’s  flank.

“Well, he is the one that wanted you free. He intends to wed you.” Bilbo shrugged a shoulder and hauled the pack free. “You know, to take care of the curse?”

“Then why did you come for me?” Thorin asked as pleasantly as possible. He was confused and felt oddly ill. Something wasn’t right but he didn’t have time to focus on it. His chest was still throbbing as well, and his leg was aching. He was tingly all over in a familiar way, but he didn’t want to think about it. It was most likely just nerves from having actually escaped.

He had thought it would be more difficult.

“Because he couldn’t. He’s too busy running the kingdom.” Bilbo’s lips quirked up in a grin. Apparently he found something amusing. He untied the leather strings that held his pack shut and flipped the cover open. “He’s an important man after all.”

“Yet he could not be bothered to tend to Thorin himself.” Dwalin turned his dark glower on Bilbo. Balin moved closer to his side, ignoring the conversation and inspecting the wounds on his bare back. He needed a shirt and shoes.

“He has far too many demands to leave Ered Luin.” Ori added, laughter lacing his voice. He came up by Dwalin’s side and walked over to Bilbo. They both poured over the pack, laughing at whatever it was they found so amusing.

It made him uneasy. He was supposed to be bound to whoever freed him. Dwarves only ever took one mate, and he had been cursed to only be freed by his mate.

It hardly seemed fair that he would finally find his freedom and then be dragged away to someone unknown, who had not even tried to free him, and then be bound to them.

Surely his One would search for him himself?

“What is he then?”

“A man.” Bilbo answered. He looked up, laughter dancing in his eyes until he stared at Thorin. The light faded away and a frown replaced the smile. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” He elbowed Ori who also looked up. “We’ve been joking and you have to marry him.” He stood up, a bundle of items in his hand. “He’s a Lord in Ered Luin. A man with long raven hair, grey eyes, a sharp nose, and strong jaw. He has a deep voice, and is slim. He has some of the Numenor blood in him, if you know what they look like.”

Ori glanced between Bilbo and Thorin and bit his lip. He looked uncertain.

They were not telling him something. He had never seen one of the Numenor line, as their blood had all but been spent. He had seen sketches of the ancient kings though, and he imagined they would be near enough. They were not the most handsome of men.

And they were tall. Thorin would be at least  two feet shorter than his husband to be. They were thin, not nearly as broad-shouldered as their Rohirrim neighbors, and bookwise. They did not care for metal crafts or mountains.

Why would a man wish to wed him?

Bilbo approached him cautiously, like one would approach a frightened animal. He passed the bundle to Balin, who hadn’t noticed his approach. “He’s forty-five and has two sons, Boromir and Faramir. They’re rather nice. His wife, Finduilas, died giving birth to the youngest.”

“Then what need has he of me?”

“I-” Bilbo shot a look over at Ori who clamped his mouth shut. The hobbit stepped forward and cut him off. He placed his hand over Thorin’s chest, just to the side of his darkest bruise. His hand was small and cool. There were callouses on his fingers and palms that caught at his skin and hair. He didn’t know what to make of the touch. He had not been touched by anyone but his two dwarves since the capture. Before that, he had been only allowed to be touched by his family, Balin, and Dwalin.

It was lonely.

“That is for him to tell. He… well, he held a tournament to find the worthiest knights. My comrade and I won it. He deemed us most likely to succeed and awarded us with the task of freeing you.” He shrugged a shoulder and considered the skin on the other side of the bruise. “Balin, would you hand me that salve? Ori? Bring the bandages as well. I’m afraid there’s a cracked rib here. We don’t want it to get any worse.”

That explained the pain.

The salve was a thick, slightly green, goopy substance that Bilbo spread thickly over his bruises. He didn’t pay it any attention.

He felt trapped. The wind was gentle on his skin, barely ruffling his hair, the grass was sun warmed and soft under foot, and the air was filled with more scents than he had ever smelled.

He wasn’t free to explore any of it. He was to be taken to Ered Luin (and why was a man in charge of a mountain town? A dwarf kingdom?) to a man that had already lived half his life. They would be wed to end his miserable curse, and then he would be doomed to a lonely life. Would he be allowed the chance to see his family again?

After all, human consorts were not noted for the freedom they had. Women were treated as little more than child bearers. Would he be considered anything? They already thought his kind to be nothing more than greedy stone lovers.

The tower was sounding better. At least the dragon had provided entertainment.

Bilbo took the bandage up and wrapped it around Thorin’s chest before passing it to Balin who wound it around his back and passed it back to Bilbo. They continued the simple dance, passing the bandage around and around while Dwalin and Ori tended to the ponies and went about setting up a simple camp.

Bilbo pressed closer, tightening a strip as he passed the bandage back. His curls fell about his face in an interesting manner, revealing the tip of one pointed ear. He couldn’t help but study it, curious about the peculiar shape. He’d had few brushes with elves in Erebor, and that had only been with the ones from Mirkwood. They’d shown off their ears proudly, mainly because his grandfather had despised them.

Bilbo’s ear wasn’t nearly as pointed as the first-born’s ears had been. His were rounded with a neat tip that poked out of his curls. The curls that were not quite gold, but not ginger either.

“Thorin?” Balin’s voice had an odd note in it as Bilbo tightened the knot of the bandage. “Are you-” a hand laid against his upper back, over his shoulder blade. It was cool, almost chilled. Thorin shivered at its touch and suddenly realized he was warm.

Far too warm.

The tingling made terrible sense all too suddenly. His breath fled his body in a shocked whoosh and he froze in grim realization and tried to gage his body. The sun was already starting to sink. He half imagined he could feel the fire already flooding his veins and stretching his limbs.

Dwalin met his gaze with equally wide eyes.

“Right. Now that that is all taken care of, we’ll need to find lodgings for the prince. Is their a cave nearby, a hut, or house we might take refuge?” Balin stepped around Thorin with his hands neatly clasped and a small, trustable smile on his lips. He looked like an old man wanting nothing more than a smoke and long chat. Innocent and harmless.

“We’re in uninhabited woods. There is no cave or house.” Bilbo said blandly, blinking in confusion. Balin smiled and tilted his head, looking genial. Thorin had never realized his friend could act.

“Have you no tent? The prince is not used to sleeping in the wild, and would not be less than presentable for his Lord when he finally reaches him. And I’m not but an old man, surely you have something to keep us from the elements.”

Bilbo’s eyes darted to Ori who raised his eyebrow before dropping to his knee and tugging open the larger pack. He pulled several items out of it.

Thorin exhaled through his nose and fisted his hands at his side. The pain was starting up, settling low in his spine to remain until he was a dragon. He could feel sweat dripping off his brow, thankfully hidden by his hair.

“That’ll do nicely, lad.” He walked forward with an extended hand before stumbling and wincing violently. Thorin rushed to his side and wrapped an arm around him to help steady him. Balin leaned heavily at his side. “Thanks, my Prince.” Dwalin moved in at the other side and Ori stood up with the makings of a tent in his hand.

“Are you alright?” Bilbo asked unsurely. Balin turned his head slowly, wincing again as his body twisted slightly.

“It’s just the aches of an old man rising up. Arthritis and the likes.” He tilted his head and studied Bilbo as Ori went about laying the materials for the tent down. “Do you have any clover and cat’s claw? It would help. If I’m to keep up with all of you, I’ll need it.”

Bilbo looked over at Ori who had all the stakes laid out. Ori shook his head. “Not with us, but we can find some.” He looked at the three dwarves and frowned. “We’ll look for some. Wait here. There are brigands at the other side of the forest, not to mention an angry dragon behind us.”

Thorin inclined his head politely, barely paying attention. He did not have time for Balin to be handicapped, and he was scared that his mentor was hurt. He had never complained of aches before. Was it an effect of leaving the tower?

The burning was worsening as well. He could feel the dragon rising in his chest.

It was too soon. He should have a week before he changed again!

Bilbo and Ori went further into the woods, disappearing from sight into the trees. The minute they were out of sight Balin straightened up and walked towards the tent with smooth determination.

“Dwalin, give him something to bite so that he doesn’t make any noise. I’m going to get this set up. If you see them coming back, throw the blanket over Thorin. He’s changing and we cannot let them know his… problem.”

“Right.”

Thorin stared at his friend as he hefted the stakes upright and went about setting the tent up. Dwalin thrust a thick stick at him and went to join Balin in assembling the tent.

He felt the burn of the transformation and dropped to his knees while he thrust the branch into his mouth. He exhaled all the air from his lungs and braced his body. He had just enough time to lock his jaw and remind himself not to scream before the agony hit. It blazed down every nerve and wiped his mind off everything but the pain. Pain he’d felt weekly, but now looked to be a nightly thing. Pain that never got any easier to bare.

His bones snapped, his skin ripped, and his entire body stretched as his organs transformed to its new shape, but he didn’t scream. Solely because he had no air in his body to scream with.The fire plagued his body, leaving no room for anything resembling mercy.

And then the terrible fire faded. It left him in a new, tender body that was longer and sleeker than his own. He blinked his eyes and panned his head around. He couldn’t quite see through his new eyes yet so he tested his limbs. He stretched them out and pushed himself up stiffly.

He bit down and snapped the branch in half with his powerful jaws and spit the remains out so he could properly pop his jaw. Another blink, and he could see.

He was in the tent. Dwalin was trying to push his tail back in while Balin tugged his paws to pull him further forward. There was almost no room to move in. He took inventory of his body and tugged his tail back into the tent. He tucked it close to his body and curled up as tightly as he could.

“That’s better, but not by much.” Balin murmured. “I’ll have to stay in here thanks to my act earlier, but it won’t be comfortable.”

“I’ll sleep outside under the pretense of keeping guard. I’ll trade off with the other two.” Thorin stared at them, still trying to breathe properly and curled tighter.

It was going to be a long, horrible night.

Dwalin slipped out of the tent and went about securing the tent shut. Thorin lowered his head and sighed. The simple action made smoke puff out of his nostrils and curl up into the air. He watched it disinterestedly. The color was dull in his new vision.

“Well.” Balin muttered as he lowered himself to the ground stiffly. “This could have gone worse.” He leaned against Thorin’s front leg and pulled out a pipe. He eyed Thorin with a frown. “I did not expect this.”

“Nor did I.” He shuffled against the grass in an attempt to get comfortable. He was already restless, and it would only get worse. The dragon hated sitting still. It wanted to be free. It longed for gold and treasures to guard. He wanted to spread his wings and take to the sky. To finally know what it felt like to fly.

“The curse didn’t mention anything about-”

“The curse mentioned very little. Our circumstances hardly fit the intended cure.” He was supposed to be saved by his one. By a daring knight who vanquished a dragon to rescue him. He got a Lord who hired someone to free him. Someone who had not destroyed the dragon and snuck him out a window. Now he had to curl up and hide his form less he be abandoned or the curse untreated. He could not spend his life switching between a dragon and dwarf.

He inhaled to sigh again, and caught a scent he’d never smelt before. It was sweet, like honey in sunlight, and musky at the same time. It was a heavy, heady, thing that curled up deep in his stomach and stole his entire attention away. He craned his head toward the scent, inhaling more deeply and letting his eyes flutter close as the scent approached.

He inhaled great gulps of air, losing himself momentarily to the enticing smell and the pleasant warmth it made spread through his chest. It was addicting, and made everything else seem distant.

A sharp prod in his arm made him hiss and snap his head back. He bared his teeth on instinct and snarled at his attacker. Balin glared up at him. “Stop it! Bilbo and Ori are approaching. Keep quiet!”

He curled up as tightly as he could and tried to ignore the laughter he could hear in the air, and the intoxicating scent that seemed to be everywhere.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The smell only seemed to grow stronger through the night. It was maddening. Utterly intoxicating and distracting. No matter how he positioned his head in the cramped quarters, he could still smell it.

He wanted out. He wanted to stretch his wings and explore the new area. Both on foot and in the air. He wanted to find the scent and know what was so delectable. He wanted to claim it.

To guard it.

He was accustomed to fighting the dragon urges whenever he was in the form, but this was far stronger than usual.

It did not help that Bilbo and Ori talked late into the night. They sang songs, joked, and even swapped a few stories with Dwalin. He wanted to join them. Balin remained with him, but the dwarf fell asleep quickly, curled up by his side.

It was a long night.

“Highness?” A small something poked Thorin’s side. He batted his hand at it to get rid of it, wanting nothing more than to sleep. He’d been up nearly all night. “Hey! None of that. Get up, we have to keep moving.” Another poke, harder, and Thorin forced his eyes open. A face, mostly blocked by disheveled, honey-colored, curls, peered down at him.

Mahal and his hammer, Thorin’s entire body ached. He hadn’t really had a chance to recover from the first transformation. If his days continued like this… well, he would not be looking forward to the remainder of the journey.

“I am awake, hobbit.” he growled out, a little more bitterly than he intended. He pushed himself up stiffly, only to realize that Balin was asleep on his arm. “If you will give me and my companion a moment’s time, we will follow you.” Bilbo nodded his head slowly, his eyes not meeting Thorin’s. Thorin waited, but he did not move anywhere. “Master Baggins?”

Bilbo’s eyes shot up and met Thorin’s. The tip of his ears, and the apples of his cheeks flushed red. “Of course!” He stumbled back, still blushing, and slipped out of the tent. Thorin dropped his own gaze to his chest to see what the hobbit had been staring at and he felt himself blanch.

His ribs were healed. The bandages had shredded during the transformation, and it was now just his bare chest. His healed, bare chest.

That would be hard to explain away.

He wrenched his arm free and pushed up properly. Balin snored loudly, and rumbled to himself before curling into a tight ball. “Wake up,” Thorin called, trying to rub feeling back into his arm. “We have to be off.” Balin continued asleep. Thorin pushed to his feet, feeling a bit wary about what was occurring outside the tent. Hopefully Dwalin could take care of it. He didn’t want to go into the details on the dragon.

If they hadn’t mentioned the dragon yet, then they didn’t know that part of his curse. He couldn’t risk them finding out and changing their mind about taking him to their Lord. They might think the dragon curse would remain.

And who would want to marry a dragon?

“Wake up,” Thorin nudged at Balin’s back with his foot while he wrangled his hair back in its proper braids. Balin jerked hard and then bolted upright, scrambling at the ground on his sides in search of a weapon. Thorin paused mid braid and looked down at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Balin?” He asked around a mouthful of leather strips to tie his braids.

“What? What is it?” Thorin motioned towards the tent’s flaps where sunlight could be seen filtering into the room. “Goodness!” Thorin finished one  braid and tied it off. “Are you-”

“I’m fine. There’s no time. We’re wanted out front.” He worked quickly at the other braid and fastened it off as well while Balin stood up slowly and stiffly. Once the dwarf was up Thorin took his arm and made to help him out of the tent. Balin bent over and acted as though each step hurt.

“Thank you, sire.” He murmured respectfully once they were outside. Bilbo glanced at him with a tilted head and curious eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

A quick conversation with Dwalin revealed that the hobbit hadn’t mentioned his swift healing.

-[]-[]-[]-

They set up a simple routine that would be easy to keep. They ate while they packed, a simple breakfast of greens, berries, and scones. Then they secured their numerous packs to the ponies and continued through the forest. They would set up camp when the sun started to set, and Thorin would retire to his tent to transform. They would set off earlier in the following mornings to make up for the lost travel time.

The ride was entirely different from what he would have expected if he’d ever given his rescue more than a fleeting thought. It was cleaner than he would have thought - Bilbo had washed the blankets and cloaks in the night- and much livelier. Ori hummed a tune while he wrapped the tent back up in its pack, and Bilbo made up lyrics on the spot. It felt like something they had done a thousand times.

Then, when they were on their horses and riding through the woods, they told stories. They could be anything. Light and funny, slow and scary, sweet and simple, or historical and complicated. Ori was a gifted storyteller, and Bilbo was excellent at coming up with rhymes.

It was merry. It reminded him of the gatherings of family when he was younger.

He didn’t talk often during the first day of riding, preferring to observe. Balin was quick to join in with the story telling, and Dwalin was cajoled into joining when insults were traded.

On the second day, Bilbo went to great lengths to draw him into conversation.

Bilbo gave smiles easily and was free with friendly touches. Whether it was pat on the back, a bump against his shoulder, a gentle hand on his to alert him to food, the hobbit was happy to touch.

He was a mystery.

Ori was clearly a long time friend -which was odd because his dwarves rarely associated with other races. They ribbed each other constantly, but were quick to make sure the other was safe. Bilbo climbed a tree their first day and slipped on a branch halfway up, nearly cracking his skull. Ori had rushed to make certain he was safe, and then laughed for nearly five solid minutes. He was excellent at finding food, but pouted every time the last scone was eaten. His face was more expressive than any Thorin had ever seen, and he had the ability to make anyone laugh.

Thorin could not figure out why they were there.

They had knowledge of woods, clearly, but that was as far as their survival skills seemed to go. They had clearly not been trained as any sort of a fighter either.

That became clear on the fourth day.

Thorin was joining in the conversation whenever he could, Bilbo was making a great effort to include him in any manner he could, and Thorin was not going to be so rude to ignore that.

They had been riding for what felt like years. He was tired. Tired of the endless woods, tired of the constant struggle to hide himself at night and fight the urge to capture whatever the devouring scent was, and tired of riding. It was not comfortable. Their path was horribly uneven, his rear was sore, and his hair kept falling into his eyes no matter how many times he brushed it back. He would need to try a different braid.

Today, Bilbo was singing. It was a jolly tune that helped to lift Thorin’s spirit’s, though it was clear that was not the case for the other three dwarves.

While Bilbo didn’t appear to care that it was getting warmer, that he was covered in dust and sweat, and that the ponies refused to be hurried in the tight quarters. Bilbo just kept right on singing a drinking song that was somewhat nonsensical. He even tapped his heels to the pony in time to the claps that apparently went with the song.

“Could you at least pick a different song? I have had to listen to that tune for days now.” Ori declared with a mildly annoyed tone. Bilbo glanced at him from under his honey-ginger curls and grinned widely.

“Why? Is it starting to irritate you?”

Ori shook his head and Thorin found himself wishing the air was cooler. The dragon within him kept his temperature running high. “No, it irritated me two days ago. In the time since I have started to plot your demise. Colorfully.”

Bilbo laughed, completely undeterred. He kept tapping his feet time, and bounced a little more with each of his pony’s steps. He was happy, unquenchably so. “Then tell me one of the ways you have imagined killing me. It will be entertaining at least.”

Thorin snorted and gave his tired head a shake. His black locks fell into his eyes again and he gave his head another flick to get rid of the irritants. His skin was tingling. The dragon wanted something, he just wasn’t sure what it was.

He could not wait to be rid of the beast.

“Well, do you remember that time at the-”

Dwalin made a sharp motion from his location near the front of the group, and everyone froze. The warrior’s head was turned towards the trees on their right, a frown on his lips.

And then chaos.

The trees seemed to come alive as figures dropped from the trees. Knives flashed through the airs and shouts of surprise echoed around the forest. Thorin was tossed from his terrified pony, and tasted dirt before he heard Bilbo cry out in pain. He pushed himself up stiffly and, drawing his sword out of his scabbard, looked to see what had happened. Men, most likely the bandits Bilbo had mentioned at the start of their journey, where surrounding them. They’d attacked from the front and the back of the group, and everyone had been dismounted. Two of the ponies were wrangled by a tree, and the other two were no where to be seen. Dwalin was throwing a thief back, and Balin was making his way to Thorin.

Bilbo and Ori were caught fast. The thieves had made use of their apparent lack of fighting experience. I made a sour taste rise in Thorin’s throat, and he had to clench his jaw to keep from growling in rage.

“Drop your weapons!” The head thief, a greasy haired man who had pale skin, drawled. The men holding Bilbo and Oril had no weapons, and the other men weren’t near enough to reach them before Thorin could.

There was only one real choice. They’d have to fight.

“Release my companions and you may leave alive.” Thorin growled out. Dwalin and Balin moved in closer at his sides, their own weapons ready. The lead thief glanced back at his own men, and smirked. They totaled six men, including the three that held Bilbo and Ori.

“No. The hobbit is coming with us. His kind are supposed to be great fun. We’re interested in learning what wonders they can perform for ourselves.” He scanned the trapped hobbit with a lewd smile that made Thorin’s chest burn with a fiery rage. “And the dwarf is clearly from wealth. We will see what his family will do for him.”

Thorin twisted the sword, settling it properly in his grip. The sound of steel against leather filled the woods as the outlaw drew his own.

“So be it.”

It reminded him of fighting his father when he was a child. He had fought desperately against his father’s far larger size and strength. At such a young age it had seemed impossible. Now, it was necessary. There was no other choice. His loss would mean failure, and he could not put Balin or Dwalin danger.

He forced his way forward, oddly fear free. He had not fought a true opponent before.

The bandit was quick, but Thorin was strong.  He had merely to land a direct blow low on the blade and he would win.

It quickly became a dance between them. A back and forth game of parry, feint, and strike. There were no shields to be had, so defense was necessary.

He could not focus on his friends. He felt outside of time and awareness. There was nothing but the next strike. The thief turned his blade so Thorin’s thrust slid off, and he twisted around to bring the tip of his blade back on the robber’s so that his shoulder wasn’t left compromised.

The bandit swung again and he moved to parry, but the thief’s blade dropped and caught him off guard. Before he could get the tip of his sword back down the thief came back from the other direction and rammed Thorin hard in the bicep with his pommel.  

His left arm, thankfully, but painful. He grunted and bit back the pain.

He had much higher standards of pain. The transformations had seen to that. He brought his sword back around low, and the thief only barely parried in time.

The thief’s lack of honor makes Thorin push his own away. He could hear Dwalin in his head. “Don’t assume your opponent will fight fair. Unless it’s a noble battle, use any advantage.” He parries a blow and uses the momentary gap to elbow him hard in the gut. The human uses his own height to push back, the scrape of steel loud in the air.

He swung hard, a deadly blow, but the thief darted out of the way and kicked out wildly. His momentum made Thorin fall backwards, and down to the forest ground.  His sword fell uselessly a few feet away. His arms instantly shot out, vainly searching the ground for anything to use as a weapon. His fingers closed around something hard and solid and he grabbed for it. A quick tug saw the object-an oaken branch, thick and sturdy- over his chest as the robber swung out.

His sword hit the bark, and the branch held. Thorin kept the branch up as a shield and pushed himself up with the other arm. He got his feet under himself while the human swung crazily, and pushed back. His sword laid a few feet to his left. He shoved forward and scrambled for the sword. His fingers found the handle and he hefted it up with a throaty bellow.

The thief stumbled.

Thorin caught him square in the chest with the flat of his blade and then hit his face with the oak branch He swung the blade up at an angle Dwalin had taught him and caught the thief’s sword before he could properly parry or dodge. He forced it out of the human’s grip and then he hit him once more with the branch. The thief fell to the ground, unconscious.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

They’d tied all the outlaws together and left them in the forest. They loaded the two remaining ponies with supplies (what was left of theirs and a few of the Thieves). They had then beat a hasty retreat into the forest. Bilbo estimated they had another three days worth of traveling through it. He then intended to stop by the house of a friend to restock their supplies.

They had intended on going there tomorrow. The loss of ponies would greatly lengthen their travel time.

He was oddly happy about the idea. Thorin was fairly certain this would be his only taste of freedom. Once he was married he would be little more than property. He didn’t know much about Denethor, but what Bilbo and Ori had told him was not promising. His one comfort would be that he would be able to contact his family.

For now he was walking in the middle of the group. Ori and Dwalin were leading the company, and Balin was trailing in the back with the two ponies. Bilbo was walking at his side, chatting amicably. Thorin half suspected he disliked silence as he had not been silent since they’d started walking. It had been two days of nothing but talking.

Thorin didn’t mind, which was surprising in and of itself. He had never been gifted with small talk when he was younger, and often found himself in the middle of awkward silences. Even with Balin and Dwalin he sometimes found himself preferring silence.

Now they were talking about berries of all things. Though, with the way hobbits were supposed to love food it was probably not surprising.

“I do not like berries."

Bilbo gaped at Thorin in disbelief. "You don’t like berries? I’ve never met someone who doesn’t like berries."

"Now you have." He picked his way around a stump carefully and tried to ignore the unease in his chest. He hated being different. He had always been different. He had been forced to be different by his birth status and now his cursed status.

Berries should not make him different.

Bilbo was smiling though. “Did you ever get a chance to pick them as a child? My mother used to take me, Ori, and his brother to pick berries when we were children. His older brother never came, of course. He couldn’t get dirty of course." He laughed, apparently finding the idea of the older brother getting dirty funny.

Thorin glanced over at him before returning his gaze to the path in front of them. "No. There were no bushes in Erebor’s gardens."

Bilbo stopped suddenly with a hum and stepped off the path. He went straight to a plump bush and motioned for Thorin to join him. He did, ignoring the looks that Balin, and Dwalin gave him. It was a bush with red berries. He hadn’t seen berries since he was young. They were his mother’s favorite snack, but he never cared for the tartness.

"Raspberries were always my favorite part of summer. Scones with clotted cream and raspberries was, and is, the best breakfast. We would go out and pick berries in the morning and then lounge around under the sun with books for the remainder of the day. We’d eat nearly all the berries before we got back.” He sighed happily and Thorin found himself longing for a similar memory. "What would you do for fun?" He plucked at the plant absently, pulling fat berries free from the branches.

Thorin kept his expression mild. “Study mostly.”

“What?” Bilbo asked, pulling more berries free.

“Everything. Swimming was my favorite.” The hobbit continued working berries free. He nimbly avoided the brambles with obvious experience. Thorin couldn’t help but feel amused at the obvious evidence that Bilbo had picked a lot of berries.

Finally satisfied with his handful, the hobbit stepped away from the bush and towards Thorin. He grabbed a single sleek, plump berry and held it out to Thorin.

Thorin considered the berry for a moment and Bilbo raised his eyebrow. “Open up, highness.” He smiled to soften the title and Thorin, to his own surprise, did. Bilbo popped the berry in his mouth and withdrew the hand. Thorin bit the berry and juice exploded on his tongue. He chewed it, enjoying the tart, fresh sweetness, and swallowed.

He never tore his gaze from Bilbo’s. “Delicious.” Bilbo offered a pleased smile and passed him the remaining berries. He plucked a few more and winked before stepping back on the path.

Thorin watched him go uncertainly. The berries didn’t seem as sweet now.

-[]-[]-[]-

The pull to leave the tent grew worse with each night. The pain of the transformation was almost too much to endure and it was only through luck that he didn’t make any sound.

It took Balin putting himself in front of the entrance to keep him from escaping. He wanted out. The scent, sweet and alluring, had grown all the stronger. He (or his dragon half) was certain that the scent was coming from one of their two escorts.

And to make it worse, he could hear Bilbo singing. The light tune got under his skin and made him itch in a way he’d never felt before. He had no idea what he really wanted- other than to stretch his wings- but the call was so very hard to resist.

It was a terrible night. The worst he had had since the tower.

He could not sleep a wink. He kept up until the first lights of dawn shown, his muscles tense and heart pounding. Each breath was a warm gust, on the verge of fire, and he couldn’t tear his gaze from the front flap.

They reached Beorn’s in the afternoon, though their host was nowhere to be seen. Neither Bilbo or Ori seemed disturbed by that fact. They simply went about fixing a large lunch and securing the two ponies. Dwalin and Balin went to secure the area and Thorin found himself with the chance to explore.

Beorn’s was lovely, and large, but covered with animals. Mice, ponies, Bumble bees (who were the size of his fist), dogs, and even sheeps. The sheep ran the kitchen, and the dogs led them to their rooms for the night. They were surprisingly intelligent, though they didn’t seem very trusting of him or Dwalin. He wandered about the house first (which was vastly  over- sized. Beorn had to be quite large.) and then made his way outside. He bumped into Bilbo who had a cloth, and basket of items.

“Burglar, where are you going?”

Bilbo smiled at the nickname that Balin had given him and shrugged. He hefted his basket a little higher so that Thorin could see it’s contents (a bar of soap, smaller cloth, and comb) and fairly near beamed.

“I, Master Dwarf, am going to take a bath in the marvelously clean lake over there.” He pointed behind Thorin to a large body of still water. It was pristine and Thorin had the strange urge to toss a rock into it to make ripples. “I have not had a chance to be clean since we started this quest. Since that time I have rolled through rain, mud, goblins, bones, muck, and pine sap. Not to mention that I’m still covered in most of it, not all of which I can identify. Now, if you excuse me, I mean to jump in that lake, because, by Ulmo’s grace, I will be clean again.”

Thorin watched him in utter amusement before lifting his tunic and covering his nose. He waved his hand through the air as if he was trying to get rid of a stench, and then he laughed at the slap Bilbo landed on his chest. He wanted to ask about the goblins, but felt it could wait.

Bilbo pushed past him, grinning widely, and dropped his cloth and basket before running for the water. He jumped into it, disappearing with a splash and shout of excitement.

He watched him with curiosity and made his way towards the water’s edge somewhat automatically. He reached the lake and watched in surprise as Bilbo emerged with another splash, his head tossed back and water pouring off his form. He gave his head a shake, sending droplets flying everywhere, and stood up.  

The hobbit stepped through the water gracefully, his smile beautiful to behold and the shift and shorts he was wearing clinging to his skin. Thorin watched, mesmerized. He blinked twice, realized he was staring, and forced his gaze away. It wasn’t proper.

“Come on in, Majesty. The water is delightful, if I do say so myself.”  Bilbo was smiling at him, and walking towards him. His heart seemed to flutter in his chest and he wondered at that reaction as Bilbo reached him, very much wet and smiling.

“Baggins,” he mumbled, a little thickly, in warning.

“Majesty,” Bilbo returned with a teasing tone. He brushed his hand down Thorin’s arm to grab his hand. They were both still for a moment, and then Thorin was pulled forward. He fell into the water with a splash and heard a laugh before he was submerged. Water surrounded him everywhere in serene silence.

For a moment he simply stayed below the water. It cut everything else in the world off, silenced every voice but his thoughts. Even they were nothing but a subdued hum. The water was a cool balm against his skin, holding him suspended and safe.

Everything seemed simpler underwater.

He pushed up once his lack of air became a problem. It had been years since he’d swam anyway. He shouldn’t try and do so now only to find he’d forgotten how. Regardless of how it felt, the water was not a safe place.

He rose up from the water and found his hair hanging in his eyes. He pushed it away and wiped away the excess lake water. Bilbo looked back at him with wide eyes and a slight flush high on his cheeks.

“You will regret that.” He stated with a teasing lilt to his voice that he hoped Bilbo understood. The hobbit flashed him a bright, cheeky smile in understanding and stepped back. He probably anticipated a chase, but Thorin was larger, and stronger. He simply struck out at the water and sent a large splash at the retreating halfling.

Bilbo gasped in surprise at the large splash of water and spun back to face Thorin with a damp, sparkling smile. “Oh, that’s it. Consider the gauntlet thrown down, Prince.” He dropped his own hands to the water and a splashing war commenced. Thorin was just moving forward, thoroughly soaked from splashes, to just push Bilbo into the water when they were interrupted.

“Thorin!” The shout came from behind them, unexpectedly, and was immediately followed by: “Bilbo!” Ori and Dwalin came jogging towards them from the house with expressions that were close to panic. Dwalin was scanning the scene with wide eyes and didn’t slow down even when it was quite clear they weren’t in danger.

It almost made Thorin feel guilty, though he couldn’t discern why. He stepped out of the water, pulling at his wet clothing to stop it from clinging to his skin uncomfortably.

“What is it?” Bilbo snapped. Thorin looked over his shoulder at Bilbo and saw that he was far redder than he had been. He met Thorin’s gaze and flushed even more. His eyes shot back to Ori and he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Balin needs to see you.” Dwalin said once he reached Thorin. He tugged Thorin the remaining way out of the water as Ori continued towards Bilbo. Dwalin watched him with a frown and looked back at Thorin. The frown grew. “Let’s get you dry.”

Thorin had no idea what was going on. It seemed to be a new theme with his life. Everyone behaved oddly and he was left to figure out the why by himself. Only no one seemed to care that he didn’t know the why.

-[]-[]-[]-

Beorn was enormous. Thorin had thought the thieves were tall, but he was quite mistaken. Because Beorn was at least a foot taller than them, and twice as thick. He had wild, dark, hair that stuck  away from his head in random directions and gave him a truly wild look. He walked around bare chested with brown breeches and was very fond of animals.

They were putting an evening meal together (with the aid of the dogs and sheeps who really were far too clever) when the back door thudded shut. Balin, Dwalin, and Thorin stilled by the table with their dishes and stared at the hall with wide eyes while Ori beamed and Bilbo sighed.

“Little Rabbit!” The loud, exuberant shout echoed off the walls as though the room was too small to hold it. Loud footsteps shook the house, and then the giant of a man was in the dining room. Thorin deposited his plate down to keep from doing something ridiculous-like dropping it or throwing it- and stood up as straight as he could.

The wild man went towards Bilbo and lifted him up, off the ground with two large, meaty hands. Once he had the hobbit in the air he spun him around and set him back down with a laugh as Bilbo scowled fiercely. Ori looked as if he was trying to stifle a laugh into his glove covered hand.

He shared a look with Balin, who looked no less confused than he felt, when his entire body went rigid. He felt like he was back in the tower, on the lower level, and Arrâsumu was eyeing him with his dark, lecherous gaze. His eyes darted around the room to find the source of the uncomfortable gaze, and they landed on Beorn who was staring at him with the same intensity others reserved for a battle.

“Fire speaker.” He said lowly, and then took a step towards him that sounded too close to Arrâsumu not to make Thorin want to shrink away. “You are here for the night?”

“He’s here with me. And Ori.” Bilbo added after a moment. The wildman’s gaze did not waver or move. Thorin stood up taller and held the gaze. Beorn-whatever he was- was not Arrâsumu and did not hold a candle to the dragon. Though he was curious why the man dubbed him ‘fire speaker.’

“You will stay in your room, I believe?”

“With your leave.” He inclined his head but held the gaze. He felt like he was battling his inner self, his dragon instincts. It was the same way he felt when trying not to submit to Arrâsumu.

What was the wild man? Because he was clearly not a human.

“That would be wisest. Little Rabbit!” Bilbo jumped in surprise at the shout as Beorn turned towards him. “You will stay with Huan tonight. He has missed you.” Beorn clapped Bilbo on the shoulder, making him stumble, and then he stomped back out of the room.

Thorin felt exhausted and confused. His shoulders were tense and he had grabbed onto the chair in front of him at some point with a grip tight enough to make his fingers ache. He exhaled through his nose and relaxed his hands.

“I am so sorry about that.” Bilbo blurted as Balin set his dish down noisily. “Beorn is a shape-changer.”

“Part bear.” Ori added as he laid the silverware out. He kept his gaze carefully down.

“Right. He can change into a bear and sometimes that side of him is more predominant, even when he’s in human form.” His eyes darted back to the hall Beorn had left down. “Though I’ve never seen him that… aggressive.” He side eyed Thorin.

“It was nothing, Bilbo. I intended on spending the evening in my chamber anyway. He tried to smile but it was too stiff to be right. “The sheep do not like me.” He winked and Bilbo laughed, suddenly and loudly. Thorin relaxed and pulled the chair out. He sat down in it, smiling more naturally. Dwalin and Balin took the seats on either side of him and Bilbo sat across with Ori.

“Perhaps it was the impromptu bath you gave the girl earlier.”

“It was not my fault she was bleating next to the stream.” Thorin returned as he served himself a salad. There was no meat to eat in the house.

“You’re lucky she didn’t eat your clothes.” Bilbo countered, beaming.

“That would be a goat.” Dwalin kicked him, just hard enough to get his attention. He looked to see his friend and guard frowning.

“Best hurry and eat.” Balin said cheerfully, but the long look he gave Thorin was full of warning that he didn’t understand. They had an hour before sunset. “We don’t want our host getting antsy.”

“He won’t,” Bilbo assured. He grabbed a pitcher off the table and met Thorin’s gaze.  “Ale?” He asked with an easy smile and tilt of his head. Thorin’s eyes lowered to the amber liquid and his mouth watered for a taste. He had not had a drink since before the curse.

“No!” Dwalin and Balin yelled in unison. They shook their heads and stood up. Balin pushed the pitcher away while Dwalin dragged Thorin’s chair back.

“No.” Balin repeated again, far more calmly. Dwalin gave Thorin a long look.

_We do not need a drunk dragon._

Bilbo and Ori were gaping at them. Thorin smiled as politely as he could manage and stood up to try and douse the awkwardness of the fact that Dwalin had literally dragged his chair away. “I’m afraid I’m allergic.” He stepped away from the chair and bowed. “If you exscuse me, I believe I’ll go ahead and retire.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said quietly. He set the pitcher aside and dropped his gaze to the table top.

Thorin headed towards his room with his mentor and guard. No one said a word and he couldn’t think of any words to break the silence. He pushed his door open and stepped into the room only to find himself tense once again.

Beorn was sitting on his bed.


	7. Chapter 7

“Fire Speaker.” Beorn intoned after a long, silent moment.

“Master Beorn.” Thorin decided civility would be the best way to proceed. He knew very little about their host, or the land they were in.

“Shut the door. Your companions can stay.” He spoke slowly in an odd tone. Almost as though he was remembering the language as he spoke it. Balin shut the door and Dwalin pressed in close to his side. He had his hand resting on his axe hilt in a very unsubtle way. Paired with the glare he wore, Thorin had rarely seen him look so angry. “We have much to discuss, changer.”

Thorin remained still and changed nothing about his stance or expression. Balin took his other side.

“Yes, I know your ability.”

“Curse.” Thorin corrected. It was not an ability. It was a handicap.

“You have an inner dragon. Why are you with Little Rabbit?”

“That is our business,” Dwalin grit out. Beorn’s gaze turned to him slowly. He didn’t say anything before looking back at Thorin.

“You are the son of Thrain. A lost prince. A dwarf.”

He said the last word with a disgust that was not at all veiled. Thorin’s skin was beginning to burn. The dragon was approaching and it was agitated. It didn’t like the shape-changer who was trying to be dominate. “I am.” There was no point in denying. Who knew what Bilbo had said to Beorn?

“You will not leave this room tonight. I do not like dwarves, and I like dragons even less. Cause no trouble and you will receive none. Keep Little Rabbit safe and you will pass through my land unharmed.”

“I have no intention of harming Bilbo. If you know who I am, then you should know why I am traveling with him.” Beorn studied him with wide eyes that were far too knowledgeable for the slow voice.

“But you two have not joined and your dragon has not been freed.”

An image of Bilbo under him, sweaty skinned and glowing from the warm light of a fire, his curls swaying as he moved and tossed his head back, popped into Thorin’s head suddenly and vividly. His heart hammered at the thought and he felt a little dizzy. He barely even heard the end of Beorn’s statement.

“That’s not why he freed me.” Thorin managed. His tone didn’t sound too odd, thankfully. His diplomatic training as a child came in handy. It allowed him to maintain a mask while his mind reeled. He hadn’t had need of such a thing in a very long time.

_That_ did explain a few things. Had Dwalin and Balin suspected? Was that the reason they kept dragging him away from Bilbo? Did they believe he would fall for the hobbit’s smile, charm, and heart? That he would forget himself? They wouldn’t have wondered at his not catching on. He had never really fallen for anyone. There hadn’t been a chance. Why had Gimlûn not thought about the fact that he would have very little in the way of social skills? Mahal above, he had practically been a hermit.

Desire or not, Thorin could not permit himself to find the hobbit (Bilbo, a quiet part of his mind insisted) desirable. They were simply traveling together. Nothing else could ever be permitted. He was betrothed and cursed. He could not inflict that on Bilbo. He was not allowed. His life had been made to go down another path. To… Denthor.  Hobbit’s were creatures of comfort, of life, light, laughter, and song. He was rock, stone, and memory.

This could be nothing more than an attraction. It was obvious. It made Thorin slightly irritated that Beorn even thought he would not be capable of controlling himself. They would continue on as they had. Nothing had really changed, save that Thorin would guard himself a bit better. He was aware of what his heart desired, but he would not be slave to it. He would control himself and not think on it. Bilbo would remain his guide.

Even if the image would not leave his mind.

“I don’t care _why_ he freed you. I care only that he stays safe. I will remain here until after the change. I do not trust you.”

Well. If they were going to be candid, Thorin would join in. “I have spent the last decades locked in a tower with a dragon that was not solely intent on guarding me. I bear Bilbo _nothing_ but gratitude for freeing me from so terrible a place.” Anger sparked to life deep in his chest, hard and cold. He stepped forward, his back straight and his head high. He was a prince of Erebor from an ancient line. His ancestry could be traced back to the first dwarf lords. He was not to be talked down to by _anyone_. Least of all by someone who knew _nothing_ of his life. “Master Baggins and Master Ori are escorting me to their master. The Lord of Ered Luin has sought me and it is Denethor that will be charged with finishing the curse.”

“The change is starting.” Beorn observed with a raised eyebrow. Thorin had just enough time to inhale sharply through his nose before he dropped to his knees.

He would not scream. He would not scream and show the pain he felt in front of this shape-shifter. He would not appear as anything less than strong and in control.

The very thought of actually being in control was very nearly laughable. He hadn’t been in control since the-no. He had never been in control.

Thorin closed his eyes and locked his jaw in place as he forced his muscles to relax. He swallowed thickly and then the pain welled up in him. It burned through his every limb, tearing him apart, ripping him, burning him, forcing him to change so that it could make him something different, something some star-like being had decided he should be because of a mistake his grandfather had made. It destroyed him brutally, and melted him until there was nothing of what made him _Thorin_ left.

He finally forced his eyes opened and exhaled. He stretched his limbs and neck, wiggled his wings, and opened his mouth. His vision was gold tinted and his breath hot.

By Mahal, it felt good to stretch.

He inhaled sharply, extending his wings as much as he could and then he smelled it. The honey-sweet scent full of flowers and musk that made his chest explode with a warm want.

“Thorin.” Beorn’s voice was a deep rumble. It drew Thorin’s attention partially from the deep scent that made him want to break through the barred door. “It pains you?”

“Horribly.” Balin growled. He laid a hand on Thorin’s leg protectively. “Are you satisfied now? Will you leave us?”

“No.” Beorn stated simply. He moved forward and Thorin bristled. He lowered his head, barely not growling. “You should not hurt so. Shape shifting comes with powerful magic.” He looked over Thorin with a slow tilt of his head. His eyes were dark and heavy. He had a scent that was as ancient as a mountain, full of earth, rain, and stone. Thorin couldn’t believe he hadn’t smelled it earlier.

“I have always hurt.” Thorin said simply. He had been in agony since the first change. That was why he wanted a cure.

“The magic that changes you should protect you from harm.” Beorn frowned and moved closer. His large hand reached out and hovered just above Thorin’s nose.

_“Live one way, and then forced to another_   
_Thus shall be your daily norm_   
_Until found is one made to match no other_   
_And you find the truth of form.”_

Thorin quoted it quietly, his voice rumbling with the power of the air and of fire. “I am forced to the other form. It is a curse, not a gift.” He inhaled slowly and he shuddered as the scent called to him again. It was such a heady thing.

Beorn’s hand landed on his nose. “Peace, stone’s son.” His hackles raised but he didn’t growl straightaway. “That is Bilbo and Ori you smell.”

“What are you talking about?” Dwalin moved closer with his hand still pointedly on his axe. Beorn ignored him.

“The honey and flower one is Bilbo. The cinnamon is Ori.”

Cinnamon? Thorin inhaled again, and there was a slight underlying of cinnamon and wool. It wasn’t as appealing as the other though it did call as strongly.

“Do not go after it.” Beorn ordered. He smoothed his hand down Thorin’s nose and tilted his head again. “It will pass with the suns rising.”

“It always does.” He growled the words out, struggling against his need to break free and find the scent and make it his own. Why did it have such a hold on him?

“Oh,” Beorn’s eyes widened, and then his mouth opened in a laugh. “You have not figured it out yet, have you?”

“Oh!” Balin gasped and his hand flew to his mouth. Dwalin remained looking confused and Thorin felt better for it. At least he wasn’t the only one who didn’t understand. “You’re a dragon, Thorin.” Balin muttered under his breath. “You’re attracted to gold and… well…” Balin’s ears were turning red, but Thorin was still confused.

“Virgins.” Dwalin blurted suddenly. Thorin’s head snapped to look at him and the dwarf shook his head in annoyance. “Should have put that together sooner.”

Beorn drew his hand away and started towards the door. “Rest well, dwarf. You will be safe here tonight.” And then he was out the door.

Thorin had no idea what to make of any of it.

-[]-[]-[]-

Ori was a morning person, as was Balin. Thorin, Dwalin, and Bilbo, were not. It had amused him to watch their interactions, in a hazy state, each morning, but this morning it made him ache.

Bilbo’s smooth skin, his bright smile, honey curls, and every changing eyes, had haunted Thorin’s dreams. He woke up groggy and tired. His chest ached in a way he’d never felt before. It was like there was something burning under his heart, a piece of the dragon remaining even in the light of day. He stumbled out of the bedroom painfully and found the table already set out. Balin was securing their provisions in several packs while Ori gathered other supplies. Bilbo was at the table with a mug of tea and a frown.

Dwalin escorted him to the table and deposited him there before grabbing himself a cup of tea and slice of toast. Bilbo wouldn’t meet his eye and continued to frown at the table top.

“That’ll do nicely, laddie.” Balin took a paper from Ori with an approving nod and smile and Ori cheerfully went to the table to load his writing supplies up. He brushed his hand along Bilbo’s back and gave him a heavy look that made Bilbo sit up straighter.

What was going on?

Bilbo’s gaze darted to him, and the hobbit’s cheeks flushed to find Thorin already looking at him. He quickly looked back at the table and fiddled with his cup.

Thorin was so lost in his observation that he didn’t hear Balin approaching his side until the dwarf touched his arm. He turned his head, proudly not jerking in surprise. Balin had the paper Ori had given him, and it was a map. It had the rest of their journey drawn out on it. He studied it with eager eyes, forgetting about the dream and burn in his chest for a moment.

He had never been east of the Misty Mountains. They were to go through the mountains, and then down past Rivendell. They would cut through the Weather lands and Bree. Finally, avoiding the Shire, they would make their way to Ered Luin.

So much land. So many things to explore.

Erebor stood proud on the map, alone and dark. His fingers itched to caress it, but he didn’t even let his eyes stay on it long. There was nothing for him there. His family had left him to the dragon and curse.

The mountain he would soon call home was large. It was by the sea, which he hoped to see. He’d always wondered what it would be like.

“How long will the journey take?”

“Two weeks, if we’re lucky.” Bilbo said with a lift of his head. He smiled but quickly turned it into a blank line.

Thorin’s chest seemed to burn even more. “That is well.” He stood up, suddenly needing to distract himself. His dream and realizations made him uncomfortable.

“The next leg of our journey will be the most difficult one.” Ori said calmly with a small smile of thanks to Dwalin who passed him a secured pack. He added it to the pile of packs and supplies. He noticed Thorin’s gaze and offered a larger smile. He seemed full of smiles. “Beorn is loaning us ponies. They’ll return to him after we reach Ered Luin.”

That was convenient.

“Then let us set out.” He stood up and went to join Ori and Dwalin with the packs. Bilbo’s eyes were on him the entire way.

“Why will it be most difficult?” Balin asked in his casual way that Thorin envied. Ori smiled congenially.

“Because the Misty Mountains are not easy.”

“You’re being polite. They are, in fact, vile.” Bilbo stated with a grin and wink. He sidled up to Thorin’s side and tapped the sword he had strapped to his hip. “You’ll be needing all those lessons you had.”

“Goblins have inhabited it, along with a fair few wargs. There are rumors of stone giants as well.”

So very many things to see. There was an entire world of possibilities. If he were not cursed with a dragon form he would demand they take their time. He would spend his nights staring at the stars and flying on the wind. He would stretch his wings and taste freedom. It would be one of his few chances to do so.

The world just seemed to laugh at his wish for freedom. It imprisoned everything about him. His physical freedom had been claimed by a tower and then a dragon form. His future by a looming lord and dungeon-like castle, and apparently his heart by a hobbit he could not have.

It was amazing how aware he was of Bilbo at his side. He still smelled faintly of honey, and his curls were the color of bronze and copper. They looked far softer. He wondered if he would even feel their fine texture against his calloused palms.

_Control_. A dark voice in his mind growled. He grit his teeth and fixed his gaze on the hall ahead of them.

Perhaps the Misty Mountains would bring him some relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow did I hit some writers block on this. Like _da-mn_ it was bad.


	8. Chapter 8

His teeth seemed to be constantly gritted over the next few days.

Bilbo was far more endearing than Thorin had ever noticed. He had been blind indeed not to see the affect the small hobbit had on him. He wanted to grin at the halflings jokes, to listen to him chatter on, to curl Bilbo’s golden locks around his fingers. To memorize the texture of the hobbit’s skin and study his eyes-and dear Mahal Thorin needed aid.

His jaw was cramping from how hard he was clamping his mouth shut. He would have nothing but stubs for teeth at this rate.

But he could ignore it. He would ignore it. There was another thing to focus on.

Thorin was on a mountain again. The cool stone was firm beneath his feet, and smooth under his hand. His heart stilled when he touched it, and it had been a mere second before Balin and Dwalin’s hands had joined his. Nothing was said for a long moment, but the rightness that welled up in his gut would have robbed him of words anyway. A dwarf was never truly happy when separated from the earth’s stone, and he understood just how much he had lost in that tower. He could bear a life with someone he didn’t love if he was still connected to a mountain. He could find solace in her cool stone and working her beautiful gems free so all the world could see how lovely she was.

As long as he had a craft he could pass the days. To be allowed to once again work with stone? He would marry Denethor. He would close his eyes and forget the lovely shade of Bilbo’s eyes and the quirk of his mouth whenever he grinned.

The burning in his heart would surely disappear with the end of the curse.

They found a cave to spend their night in. One that veered off in two paths, thankfully. Thorin curled as tightly as he could and grit his teeth against the change until he was once again a dragon.

The scent, now that he knew just what it was, seemed ten times as potent. Every breath was filled with the heady honey scent and it more willpower than he had been aware he possessed not to lunge after it. He made Dwalin sit in front of their entrance while Balin leaned against him. The elderly dwarf’s solid presence was a constant reassurance, and Dwalin would not let him escape. He could rest in the assurance that all would be well.

The cave was cold and dark but the dampness felt pleasant against his burning skin. It made it easier to close his eyes and embrace the oblivion of sleep. The morning came too quickly.

The day was far damper than previous, and after midday it started to pour. Thorin had never been in such a downpour. He had watched a few from his tower, but the strength of the storm could not be felt from such a great distance. The ground shook with the force of thunder, lightning cracked across the sky as though it were trying to split the heavens open, and water was everywhere. It fell to the earth quick enough to hurt, and each drop felt like a dagger on his skin.

Dwalin stubbornly led the way forward, Ori at his side. Balin was behind them with the ponies, and Thorin and Bilbo were bringing up the rear. He could not see through the thick down pour, and he felt himself growing tired too quickly. His clothes weighed far more than they should and each step felt as though he were fighting a battle.

And Bilbo, barefoot even now, kept slipping. Thorin had never seen the hobbit anything less than sure footed, but the rocks were winning the battle. Thorin’s arm shot out every time Bilbo faltered. He grabbed the nearest part of the hobbit and steadied him without a word.

And everytime, without fail, Bilbo would smile with such eyes. Eyes that made it harder for Thorin to swallow. Eyes that made him feel strangely disconnected to his own feet.

He continued to grit his teeth and push along the mountains path.

Because Thorin had truly despiable luck, and the Valar clearly hated him, the storm grew still worse.

“Keep moving!” Dwalin bellowed from the front as the entire sky flashed a brilliant white around the rain. Bilbo pressed in closer to his side.

“What did he think we were doing? Stopping for a kip?” He wanted to laugh but he couldn’t open his mouth for fear of drowning in the rain. Another boom rattled the rocks and the pony directly in front of them reared back. Balin’s voice could be heard over and around in the air. Trying to calm but not doing anything. Bilbo shook as another bolt of lightning shot towards the earth.

He was scared.

The pony whinnied again and reared, kicking his legs out in the air while his mane was whipped around in the wind. Balin held on, not fearing the hooves, and called out. Bilbo shot forward to aid him, stumbling on the rocks, and reached for the pony’s back before Thorin could warn him to stay back.

“Bilbo!” He shouted out, only to hear it disappear into the wind and rain. The ground trembled under his feet, and Bilbo slipped inches away from the horse. He reared back again and Thorin watched him step back, nearly on top of Bilbo.

“Bilbo,” he belted again, “do-” he cut off on a choke as the pony took another step back. Then he was no longer in the same spot. He slipped over the rock, lunging forward with his arms outstretched. He tripped to the ground and managed to grab hold of Bilbo’s ankle. He jerked the hobbit back just in time as another horrible noise echoed through the air. It was louder than the thunder and harsher than clanging two pans together. Bilbo yelped in fright, from the near trampling or noise, and buried his chilled fingers in Thorin’s tunic.

“THUNDER BATTLE!” Ori screamed, his voice shattering as loudly as thunder through the air. Bilbo clung to him all the more as another crash sounded. THe ponies reared wildly and Balin shouted, and then they were charging off and Dwalin was throwing Ori to the wall before lunging at it as well.

What, Mahal above, was a thunder battle?

“What does he mean?” Bilbo gasped against his chest. The hobbit stuck his head out, curls plastered to his face and eyes narrowed against the wind. “Yavanna fair.”

Thorin looked out to see what Bilbo was seeing, and felt his breath gasp out. The edge of the mountain was tearing away from the rest of the cliff across from them and standing up.

He clutched Bilbo tighter, not in want of protecting him but in utter disbelief. Bilbo clung to him just as tightly and they watched as the mountain lifted arms out, stretching. The thing, the giant made of stone, pulled a part of the mountain away and then tossed it through the air at the cliff above their head. Dwalin barked something out in khuzdul that Thorin couldn’t properly hear.

He ducked, covering Bilbo’s body with as much of his own as he could and felt his breath gasp out of his body.

Then the unthinkable happened.

The cliff they were on jerked to the right, towards the abyss between mountains, and the entire thing trembled. Ori’s shout colored the air and Bilbo shook beneath his arms. His blood started to burn as the rock path they were on tore itself free from the mountainside and stood up as well.

The rock jerked again, and his hold on Bilbo loosened. He felt the burn in his blood, the burn that had only ever meant one thing, surge to the surface as his foot slipped on the rock. He instantly let go of Bilbo as he felt the ledge give, and then there was nothing beneath him.

Rock scrapped his skin and ripped at his clothes as he went over the slick side. There was nothing to grab hold of and nothing that wasn’t a confusion of greys and water. The burning in his blood reached a frightened peak as he fell, and then it was free.

Instinct took over his rational thought and he spread his newly formed wings. He stretched them as far as he could and tried to flap them against the wind, rain, and rock. He reached out with his claws and clutched at the grey as his wings finally caught wind.

For the first time in his entire life, Thorin spread his wings against the wind and rose into the water-filled air.

Screams filled the air as he flapped his wings again, the muscles in his back stiff from lack of use. He was aware of his size in a manner he had never been before, and noticed how much easier it was to see with his transformed eyes. He rose higher until he was once again even with the ledge he’d fallen from. Bilbo was trying not to slip off, Dwalin had Ori pressed against the wall so he couldn’t move, and Balin was standing upright, pony-less and terrified.

Three giants stomped around the valley below slowly, looking at Thorin like one might an annoying fly. There wasn’t going to be a lot of time then.

Thorin craned his head around, looking for somewhere they might be safe and saw an overly large cave on the far mountain. It was just wide enough to allow him entrance.

The giant rock thing hadn’t noticed that it had three dwarves and a hobbit on its… hip, yet and Thorin was determined to use that to his advantage. Bilbo was nearest, and nearest to falling off, so he’d start with him.

He flew forward, trying to find a place between instinct and logic to go where he wanted. Bilbo’s back was too him and he was scrambling to hold onto the rocks. Thorin flew as close as he could and extended his bottom leg. He wrapped it around Bilbo’s middle and ignored the hobbit’s scream as he dragged him away from the cliff. He twisted in the air and made his way to the cave he’d seen.

-[]-[]-[]-

It was, perhaps, the most difficult thing he’d ever done. The giants had realized what he’d been doing after he got Balin to the other side, and he’d had to grab Dwalin and Ori together. They’d very nearly been too heavy. He managed to make it, and climb into the cave as well. The others had been shivering so he’d lowered his furnace-hot body by their side and gathered them near with his wings.

It took remarkably little explaining. The distant crashing of the stone giants outside their cave seemed to make everything that much more believable.

They sat together, huddled in the damp, dark cave. Thorin offered to take the first watch and the others sank into an exhausted sleep fairly quickly.

“So, you” Bilbo said in the relative silence of the cave. His voice echoed quietly off the walls and seemed to surround Thorin, “are a dragon.”  Dwalin’s gruff snores and Ori’s breath sighs were the only other sound. Balin had always been a silent sleeper.

“I am.”

“Why didn’t they mention this bit? We were only told that you’d want rescuing. They didn’t mention another curse.”

That was the crux. He hadn't told because he'd been afraid. Had whoever sent for him been frightened as well? He would hardly be chased after if they knew he was a dragon. He couldn't even get someone to rescue him when he was simply guarded by a dragon. If the rescuer hadn't known, would they still want to fully free him?

“Well they probably didn’t know about it. It’s not exactly public knowledge. I’m not even certain the others know.” The words felt heavy in his mouth. He’d never actually spoken them out loud. The truth was that he didn’t know if they even cared to know.

Still, he could feel Bilbo pressed up against his side and his scent had surrounded Thorin. He felt remarkably content with it.

“Rather useful, really. Thank you by the way.”

“Thanks are not necessary.”

“I’m giving them anyway.”

“Then consider it repayment for rescuing me from that accursed tower.”

They fell into silence again. For so long that Thorin thought Bilbo had fallen asleep. “How does it work?”

“What?”

“The dragon thing.”

Thorin’s gaze drifted to the cave’s entrance. He could see the falling rain and occasional flash of lightning. It felt like watching his own memory. Full of darkness and sorrow but for a few flashes of blinding light.

“Live one way, and then forced to another  
Thus shall be your daily norm  
Until found is one made to match no other  
And you find the truth of form.”

“Was that the other part of your curse?”

Thorin nodded his head and dropped his snout to rest on his arms. It was so nice to not have to curl up in a ball. He was longer than he’d realized. “It was made when I was young, right before I was taken away. Balin and Dwalin sacrificed themselves to stay with me.” He sighed and watched as tendrils of smoke rose from his nostrils into the night air.

“You’re quite remarkable. A bit mad, but quite remarkable.”

Yet he had never wanted to be remarkable. 


	9. Chapter 9

_“Guided by the lonely star_   
_Beyond my utmost harbor bar._   
_I’ll find the haven’s fair and free,_   
_And beaches of the starlit sea._   
_Ship O’ ship I seek the west”_

Bilbo’s voice was lovely. It was light, higher, perhaps, than what one might expect. There was something warm about it. At the very least, it made Thorin feel warm. It made his muscles relax and his body feel as comfortable as he had when he was a child in front of the hearth with a snack, safe in his mother’s arms.

And Bilbo sang frequently. The less stressed he felt, the more he seemed to sing. The mountain was easier to traverse when they didn’t have to find a cave by a certain time. Thorin could fly them over particularly difficult areas.

Thorin would be lying if he said he didn’t try to keep Bilbo from having a difficult time.

He liked his voice.

They bid goodbye to the mountain herself a few days of long travel later. Thorin was glad to leave the dangers, but his heart ached to bid the stone goodbye. He longed to make a home in a mountain again. To rest in her cool chambers and find solace in her strong walls. To discover passages never before found and to reveal her sparkling gems and beauty to the rest of the world.

The days melted together. They set up a meager camp-there were no supplies to be had- and rested by the fire together. Thorin didn’t have to hide. He could join with their talks. They could sing, tell stories, or just talk. The possibilities were endless.

It was easy. The traveling and companionship. He could explore anywhere he wished, fly if he so desired, and he saw things he had only ever read about before. He enjoyed the company of his fellow dwarves, and hobbit, and he felt peaceful. He could have stayed that way forever.

The fire was flashing in the twilight, crackling on the logs and sending sparks dancing through the air. They were hypnotizing in their movement. A glowing danger that called deep in Thorin’s soul. Probably his dragon side.

He could stare at a flame for hours, transfixed by its subtle beauty.

Staring at the flames while Bilbo sang put Thorin under a spell of sorts. He became oddly unaware of himself. He couldn’t look away, and couldn’t really focus on anything but Bilbo’s voice.

“I see the star above your mast!” Bilbo finished with a flourish. Ori clapped around his knitting needles and Balin gave a call of approval.

“Did you make that up?” Balin asked once Ori stopped clapping.

“Of course. He’s forever writing bits of verse.” Ori stated with a fair bit of pride. It made a smile tug at Thorin’s lips, one that he quickly stopped. Bilbo laughed at his friend and gave his curly head a shake. The firelight reflected off his golden hair in bright bursts, almost like the sparks off the fire. It was a different kind of beauty.

“It’s the Took inside of me. I can’t help but stare at the stars and dream of adventure.”

“Have you never heard the old proverb, Master Baggins?” Thorin settled further back on his log, getting comfortable on the ground. Bilbo’s smiled from behind his curls, his greenish eyes dancing. He was quick to be happy.

“Which one, Master Thorin?”

“Be careful what you wish for.” Bilbo let out a bark of laughter, a loud, quick noise before he covered his mouth with his hand. Thorin watched him with a delightful feeling uncurling in his stomach. A flash of movement to his right drew his attention and he looked over to see Ori with an extremely worried expression.

Alarm flickered in his mind and he sat up straighter to better see their perimeter. The sun was very nearly set. He only had a few more moments as a dwarf. Once he was a dragon he wouldn’t have to worry much about the perimeter. Only a fool would go against a dragon.

“Oh, that’s the truth, isn’t it? I longed for adventure in my little hobbit hole but never sought it. Then it found me and by Yavanna’s grace I could not have predicted it. My hole is going to be rather dull after this.” He flashed a conspiring smile with Ori and noticed that his friend was frowning in worry. The hobbit’s smile faltered for only a moment before he had it fully back. “I’ll just blame it on the wizard, shall I?”

Balin instantly sat up. He set the pipe he’d been smoking aside to stare at Bilbo. “Wizard?”

Thorin turned his head to listen and felt a sharp twisting in his gut. His eyes shot to the skyline where there was only a hint of purple that the sun had even been up. The rest of the sky was almost the dark blue of night. The sun was set.

The boiling, burning pain came on quickly, wrapping him in it’s agony and setting him on fire as his body transformed. He curled up as tight as he could, trying not to draw attention to himself and bit down hard on his arm to keep from crying out.

The change came quicker this time. It felt like mere moments after the pain hit that he was sucking in a lungful of air and unclenching his limbs. He settled his body down low and took a steadying breath. His blood was burning and his heart was hammering. His body felt tender from the recent pain. He let his eyes slip open and found that everyone was once again staring at him.

“Mahal’s beard, you were quiet.” Balin murmured.

“Are they getting easier?” Dwalin asked with narrowed eyes. Thorin exhaled and pushed himself up a bit. He dug his claws into the soft dirt and flexed his muscles.

“Quicker.” He answered shortly. His voice was deeper as usual, and everything looked more golden. He curled himself around their tiny camp and set his head on his paws. He could smell far more in this form. Aside from the usual honey scent of Bilbo.

It was silent for a moment longer and then Ori was talking again. Thorin was grateful for the distraction and settled down. He let his eyes slip close and listened to the sounds outside of camp.

A hand brushed the edge of his tail and made his eyes jerk open and his tail flick. The hand didn’t move. He turned to see who it was and felt his heart thud. Bilbo, still looking at Ori, had his hand laying on Thorin’s touch. It was a small thing, barely covering the barbed end of his tail, but it made his skin crawl. Not in an unpleasant way.

Bilbo’s lips quirked up in a smile and his eyes darted to Thorin almost quicker than the dwarf could catch. The hand on his tail tightened, and his heart thumped again. He looked forward again and dropped his head onto his paws a little harder than he should have. No one noticed, thankfully.

“We’re running a bit thin on firewood.”  Balin said what might have been hours later.

“I’ll get some more.” Bilbo volunteered. Thorin’s ears perked and he popped an eye open. The halfling removed his hand from Thorin’s tail and stood up. Thorin found himself doing the same. All eyes once again shot towards him.

“I shall accompany him. Stay here.” He turned around and strode towards the trees in the distance. Bilbo fell into step by his side and once they were a few dozen feet from the camp, he brought his hand to Thorin’s side and left it there.

“Thank you for keeping me company.” Bilbo’s gaze drifted around the the empty land uneasily. “I don’t like going by myself.”

“I thought only to keep the company safe.” Thorin stated with his shoulders straight and his head up. Bilbo’s hand felt like a fire on his scales.

“Of course.” Bilbo said a little too quickly. The hand dropped and Thorin felt the loss of it like an unfortunate reminder. “I didn’t think it meant anything else.”

“I grew uneasy under their combined stairs.”

“That has to be tiring.” The hand returned to his side. “Always in the public eye.”

“I have honestly never known anything else. I have always been stared at as an anomaly. Even when I was a dwarrowling. My captivity was surrounded by stares. Balin and Dwalin were eternally worried. The dragon was also always aware of where I was.”

“That had to be disturbing.” He watched the hobbit shudder out of the corner of his eye.

“It was… distasteful.” They were at the trees now. Hidden from view. Mostly. Thorin was far too large to actually be hidden. It was more privacy than he’d had for a while.

“Unwanted attention is not simply distasteful.”

Had Thorin not been a dragon, had Bilbo not smelled like every delicious thing Thorin would ever want to devour, had he not glown like gold in the moonlight, had he not been Bilbo, he might have overlooked the statement.

It was the slight shudder that fully drew his attention. In the next moment he’d whipped around, pressed Bilbo against a tree with his oversize paw, and moved in close. Anger flared hot in his belly, and it mixed with desire as Bilbo’s scent swirled around him. “Who?” He snarled and Bilbo’s eyes widened larger than he had ever seen them, and a hint of fear merged in with his other scent. He forced his arm to relax and made certain he wasn’t pressing Bilbo into the tree, just holding him. “Who has dared to do such a thing to you?”

“Erm, Thorin, it’s alr-”

“It,” he growled slowly and lowly, “is not okay.” He released Bilbo put pressed as much of his cheek against Bilbo’s side as he could. Bilbo didn’t move for a second but his arms wrapped around Thorin’s snout. “None should be made to feel like that.”

“It was years ago, Thorin. They’re not in my life anymore.” His cheek pressed against Thorin’s face, soft and vulnerable and beautiful smelling. “Ori and a few other friends took care of them.” Bilbo squeezed tighter and Thorin could feel it in his entire body. He wanted to press closer.

He couldn’t get the memory of the way Bilbo’s fear had smelled out of his mind. He had caused that. He was a monster.

There was something soft, warm, and small pressing against his scales. He blinked, trying to think past the guilt and realized, with a jolt that felt like a flash of lightning in a clear blue sky, that it was Bilbo’s lips. His heart thumped in his strange chest and he felt an odd bubbling in his stomach. A warmth exploded through his face and he had to draw in a ragged breath. It surged through his entire body but settled in his heart.

It _hurt_.

A strange fire that was entirely separate from the burn of transformation. It throbbed and ached and seemed to get worse with each breath. He didn’t know why it was or how to fix it.

Then Bilbo released him and walked off as if nothing had happened at all.

-[]-[]-[]-

The pain didn’t subside. It grew worse every day.

And Bilbo acted as though nothing happened. He continued to sing, to laugh, and to sit near Thorin. He’d touch him lightly, but act as though it were perfectly normal.

Dwalin frowned, Ori look worried, and Balin kept frowning in sympathy. He avoided being alone with any of them. He knew what they would say and it wasn’t anything he needed to hear. He had a duty to do, and a curse to break. He was honor bound to go to Denethor. That man had sent Bilbo to free him so that Denethor could wed him.

He had to be grateful to the lord. He wouldn’t have met the hobbit otherwise. He wouldn’t have known the wonder of running free through the country. Of flying in the night and stretching his wings into the freedom of air under his wings.

He didn’t want to say goodbye. He didn’t want it to end.

It was fun. Traveling unrestricted by anything but his transformation. He had no responsibilities, no expectations. It was something he’d craved all his life. He was with the two dwarves he trusted and loved most in the world were at his side, and his new friend was always telling an interesting story. Bilbo was beautiful and fascinating and someone he desperately wanted to know more.

He could hear it counting down, every second closer to the end.

“You are avoiding me.” Balin snuck to Thorin’s side before he’d even registered the dwarf wasn’t talking to Dwalin.

“No.”

“You’re avoiding Dwalin.”

“I am simply avoiding solitude.” Balin’s eyes grew sadder and his shoulders slumped. “I know what you would say to me, Balin. We only have a week and a half before we reach the Shire. I should not grow attached.”

“I was going to say the opposite actually. You know, you don’t have to do this. We could make a home like this.”

“I won’t do that to you or Dwalin.”

“Laddie, we don’t have any reason to go back to Erebor. It wasn’t just you they imprisoned in that tower.”

No one had come for them either. He honestly couldn’t imagine living without Dwalin and Balin. He’d been with only them for so very long. He hadn’t even thought about them leaving him. It simply hadn’t occurred to him. He’d just imagined they’d always be there. Denethor might try and be rid of them though.

“You are free to go wherever you wish. I will not force you to leave, and I will not force you to stay.”

“We’re not going to leave you. Dwalin isn’t even certain he wants you to meet Denethor before he checks the man out.” A hand settled on his arm, broad, warm, and familiar. It had always been there, for as long as he could remember.

“The dragon?”

“Would not be a problem.” Balin said seriously. The hand tightened its grip. “Don’t make any decisions until after you meet Denethor. Don’t marry him until you’ve thought on it. We’ll follow you either way, Laddie.”

There was no way to repay such loyalty. He would spend the remainder of his life trying to think of someway.


	10. Chapter 10

There were, as it turned out, endless ways to find time alone with someone when you truly wished to do so. He found himself side by side with Bilbo frequently and, by his own design, as alone as traveling with three others would allow. He listened to any word the hobbit would give him, and deliberated his choices any moment he was not speaking.

He was quickly falling for Bilbo, hard.

It was something he didn’t know how to stop, and it did not allow for good reasoning. It distracted him at inopportune times and made him stare blankly at things, thinking of nothing but Bilbo’s smile and the flash of his curls in the firelight.

He had heard his father speak on the fire of longing only once in his life. Years before the attack had happened. When they were all together in Erebor, free from pain. Before his mother had died and sorrow had descended.

His father had described it as a burning beneath the heart, one that consumed everything before long. It came with a longing that nothing else but the One satisfied. As a dwarf fell in love, the burn grew and transformed. When it reached its peak, it became a constant, tender thing in the dwarf’s chest. A deep commitment that would not break with time. A loyalty, love, trust, and desire all forged into something unbreakable.

The only thing that could stop the burning was rejection. If a dwarf was rejected, he could never feel the burn again. He could feel desire, love, loyalty, and trust for another, but never as it should be.

Few dwarves even bothered with anyone else.

In hindsight, he could see that the burn had started rather a long while ago. He had been a fool not to recognize it for what it was.

They were four days away from the Shire now. The land had grown greener and quieter. It smelled fertile, and spoke of life and peace. It was a beauty unlike any Thorin had seen.

It was not as appealing as a mountain, but lovely in it’s own way.

The sun was setting low on the horizon and the pressure of time seemed to push against Thorin from every side. There was no time to be had.

“Thorin?” A gentle hand on his arm made him turn from the sky he was glaring at. He could feel the burn of the dragon raising in his belly. It would take over soon with pain, and then he would once again be the beast.

How strange it would be to be free of it. He’d spent more of his life with a dragon form than he had without one. He would miss the freedom of flying in the night sky, but he would be so grateful for the pain to be finished.

If only he could be certain marrying Denethor would end the curse.

He wasn’t even certain he craved the curse’s end enough to marry the man. If Bilbo cared… would he forsake that freedom to be with him? He would hardly make an appealing option. Especially with a dragon ever looming.

“Yes, Bilbo?”

The hobbit was golden, as always, in the fading light, with his head tilted to the side curiously. “Are you alright? We missed you at dinner.”

“I have a lot on my mind.” He replied simply. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked back out at the sky. He wondered if Bilbo had come on his own or if he had been sent by Balin.

“Anything you’d like to share? I’m always willing to listen. It seems like all you ever get to do is listen to me.” He tried to laugh, but it sounded hollow to Thorin’s ears.

“It is no chore to listen.” Bilbo’s hand caught his and it was a little shocking how much smaller the hobbit’s hand was than his. The touch was unexpected and oddly grounding. The world seemed more certain in light of it.

Bilbo was peering up at him, his eyes narrowed and focused. They were searching, always searching, flickering around Thorin’s face before settling on his eyes. They blinked twice, and then Bilbo was pressing up on his heels and pressing his lips to Thorin’s.

There was a blank moment of confusion for Thorin, and then he jerked, hard, and pressed back against the pressure of Bilbo’s lips on him. The hobbit relaxed in front of him and the burning in his chest flared.

It was a damning thing, but Thorin had never been granted anything else.

The kiss was all passion. Fierce and bright and uncontrollable as fire. Breathing was utterly unimportant, as was thinking. He had no time for them when Bilbo was against him, soft and warm and _there_. The hobbit’s tongue licked into his mouth and Thorin’s answering moan was quick and embarrassingly loud as he struggled to get closer. Bilbo grinned against his lips (he could _feel_ the smile and taste it, taste the hobbit’s joy) and nipped at him. He growled at the challenge, for it could be nothing else, and brought his hand to Bilbo’s cheek to tangle in his curls. They were softer than they’d looked, and felt like silk against his fingers. He pressed into the kiss, a little clumsy from lack of practice, but Bilbo’s lips parted easily for him.

He wanted to delve deeper, to explore everything that was Bilbo until there was nothing that he had not touched. There was no time though. The burning coursed through his skin and he tore his mouth away. There was nothing but a moment for him to inhale sharply, and then the fire was raging through his veins. He dropped to his knees in surprise at the intensity of it and very nearly shouted into the air. He clenched his jaw instead and forced his eyes to remain open as the world around him blurred in to indistinct washes of color. Another breath and it sharpened, breath by breath, until the world was solid and gold tinted.

“Your eyes,” Bilbo gasped. His honey scent was stronger than usual and it made Thorin’s mouth water. He peered up to find Bilbo in front of him. His hair was a wild mess, his lips were swollen and a darker color than normal. It made a fierce want roar through Thorin’s stomach but he pushed it away. “They turn gold.”

Thorin had not been aware of that.

He exhaled slowly and pushed himself back up, his eyes intent on Bilbo. The hobbit stared back at him, back straight and head raised. There was no hint of fear in his scent, though he wasn’t quite certain what the other musky scent that had wound its way into Bilbo’s scent  was. He dipped his head a little and pressed the top of his head against Bilbo’s. His nose was very nearly too long, and he had to tilt his head a bit so that he was the proper height. Bilbo’s arms came around him and held tight and Thorin could barely breathe.

“Bilbo!” Ori’s voice rang over the ground, shattering the peaceful reprise they had found. Bilbo sprang away as if burned and Thorin exhaled loudly. Bilbo gave him a frightened look and then darted towards the trees that lined the edge of their camp.

That brought a strong, swift ache.

He sank to the ground for a moment and focused on maintaining a steady rate of breathing. He was growing hotter with each breath, and the grass beneath him was shriveling. Sitting still was no good. He needed to move.

He rose stiffly and awkwardly, feeling like a newborn foal. The ground was not solid beneath his feet, and he wobbled when he walked. Balin and Dwalin would be at the camp, and they would know what to do. He was fairly certain that it was already too late, but he would seek their advice regardless.

The breeze drifted around him in the near darkness, and it brought the sweet scent of Bilbo with it. He closed his eyes against the smell before they snapped back open with a growl.

There was fear in the scent.

He moved forward without thought, silent as a snake in the grass. He wove his way through the far spread trees as well as he could and craned his head to hear what was going on and to find his hobbit.

“Its impossible, Bilbo.” Ori snapped. They were standing beside and oak tree. Ori’s arms were crossed over his chest in obvious annoyance. Bilbo’s arms were wrapped tightly around his chest, protectively. “You can’t mean to go through with this.”

Bilbo tossed his curls defiantly. Thorin wanted to press closer but wanted to know what they were talking about. He wanted to know why Ori was always staring with a frown at Bilbo.

Why Bilbo was always quick to look away.

“I very much can. What I can’t do is keep pretending. I simply can’t, Ori. He is an arrogant snob who thinks he can just take whatever he wants from anyone. He has no idea, no earthly idea whatsoever, that he is in fact: old, ugly, dim-witted, and hateful. He’s naive in thinking himself to be so grand, to be noble and desirable. He has no idea how the world actually works because he’s separated from it. Then there’s his other half to think of. And isn’t it charming? It’s almost enough to actually make _him_ charming. Cesspot, inept, ghastly thing that he is.”

Each word was spoken more harshly than the previous, and by the end of the tirade Thorin could not inhale. His chest stung worse than any knife wound ever had, and far more worse than the transformation. It was all he could do to stumble back.

How had he not-

How had he allowed himself to fall?

There was so much _hate_ in each poisonous, spewed word. He had been blind and foolish to have _never_ seen it. He had thought Bilbo passionate earlier. He had thought they shared desire and care. He had allowed his heart to burst with hope that his love might be returned.

Bilbo was right, he was naive and utterly inept.

It only took a few strides for him to be in the open space. His blood felt as if it were boiling, his flesh was sizzling and he could hardly see. He thought he heard his name shouted, and he recognized the scent of Balin and Dwalin. It was comforting and warming usually, but it just made the ache all the keener.

He ran.

The sky and ground was open in front of him. There was plenty of room to spread his wings to their full extent. He flapped them once, twice in test and caught a bit of air beneath them. Another flap saw him lifting. He worked his muscles and rose into the air.

The wind melted beneath his wings. It bent to his will, acknowledging him as its master. He pushed forward with a fierce determination and focused on the stars that lit his way. The throbbing pain in his chest was ignored and his teeth were gritted.

There was no other path. He would fly to the Blue Mountains tonight. He would hide himself until daybreak, and then he would present himself to Lord Denethor.

He had always taken things too seriously. His mother had warned him to carefully guard his heart. Now he had nothing to offer, and nothing left to guard.

He was disgusting to the very one he loved he best. He brought only desolation to what he cared for. He destroyed everything. He would not bind Dwalin or Balin to his ruined state any longer. He would release them from his fate and seek solace in the air.

Bilbo could go free, and his dwarves could return to their home. Thorin was through being a fool.


	11. Chapter 11

His wings, so rarely used, ached by the time he saw the mountains. He could feel dawn nearing, and the dragon fire in his mind fading away. He landed between two cliffs and wedged himself in a tight space until the light of the sun was breaking over the Shire.

He’d barely looked at it as he flew.

Bilbo’s home had been as bright and full of life as the hobbit he’d fallen for. There had been a few hobbits wandering around in the dark, and more surprisingly, a few dwarves. The hobbits had looked to simply be strolling, the dwarves as though they were on watch.

It was strange.

He managed to avoid thinking as he flew, but exhaustion was setting in. He wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. The rocks were cool under his touch and solid in a way that nothing else was. He curled up in a tight ball and closed his eyes as the first lights of dawn broke out on the horizon. His body shrank as fire blazed through his blood. He grit his teeth against the pain and turned his face towards the sun.

It warmed his body and he let it do so naturally. The magical burning of the transformation faded away and he exhaled slowly.

With luck, he would only have a few more transformations. With luck, he would be wed by tomorrow evening and they would finish the curse.

The mere thought of doing so was distasteful. He did not know who Denethor was, or what he was like. The thought of doing anything with the man was utterly unappealing.

Not when he remembered the feel of soft curls, warm lips, the taste of Bilbo’s, and the sparkle of his eyes.

It was blunted by the pain.

Bilbo thought the very worst of him. He was unknowing of the world, but it was hardly his fault. The world had seen to it that he knew nothing of it. He was uncertain why Bilbo would think he was arrogant. He had tried to be kind and considerate to his rescuer. Hobbit’s were considered to be simple creatures by his people. He had never treated him as anything but special.

To be called old, ugly, and dim-witted had hurt. He had never thought himself particularly handsome, or brilliant, but Bilbo had not seemed disappointed. He certainly had faked it well with the kiss.

What had his goal in that been? He had initiated it. He had always initiated any contact.

He had thought the hobbit had fallen for him as he had fallen for the hobbit.

And his ‘other half’ was not his fault. By Mahal’s hammer and Durin’s beard, he had tried to be rid of it.

Who would have believed that a dragon would be more loyal than a hobbit?

He curled up as tightly as he could, wrapping his coat around himself. The fur was a soft caress, gentle against the hard rock. It was cold, but after the fires he welcomed the chill. He would rest here for a few hours then make for the royal city.

It probably should have been hard to find a comfortable spot, but he was a dwarf. Stone was what he was made for. It would not betray him.

It would offer him comfort in the future. He would work in the mines and find his joy there. He would find none in love then he would devote himself to his craft.

Dwalin and Balin would find him soon, and he would have to send them away. He had claimed half their life. He could do no more.

It would be better to be alone.

There was a strange sense of destiny settling around him. He wasn’t certain if it was sorrow or anger, but it was what would happen.

He closed his eyes against the glare of the sun and tried not to think. He recited a list of metals and their alloys, and when he was finished with it, gems, until sleep claimed him.

-[]-[]-[]-

Bilbo didn’t think he had ever been so angry, or scared.

There was an axe and a sword pointed at him, and his small sword and Ori’s slingshot didn’t feel terribly daunting.

“What,” Dwalin snarled, and Bilbo had never truly been snarled at before because Dwalin’s snarl put the fear of Eru in you, “did you say to him.”

“Nothing!” Bilbo snapped for the third time. “I didn’t say anything to him!”

“Wrong answer.” The tip of Dwalin’s axe pressed against his throat and it felt like he was not going to live to see another sunrise. “He heard something, or he wouldn’t have flown off. Not without us.”

“It doesn’t make sense.” Balin muttered, his sword dropping a bit. Ori eyed it frantically and swallowed thickly. “He didn’t want to do it.”

“He didn’t?” Hope, ridiculous thing it was, fluttered in his chest. “Then why-”

“He missed what we were talking about.” Ori’s eyes were wide and his mouth dropped open in an O of surprise. “He-Mahal’s forge, he thought you were talking about him.”

“I was?” Bilbo’s brow furrowed and he thought back on the conversation. He’d been talking about the fact that he wasn’t going to give Thorin to Denethor. The man was heartless pig and- oh. Yavanna’s berries, he was an idiot.

Poor Thorin, he must have heard his description of Denethor and thought he was discussing him.

He would have thought himself betrayed. That Bilbo had used him.

He had kissed Thorin because he wanted to. He’d started falling for him from the first day. Ori had told him not to - they were supposed to do a job - but he kept falling for the charms. He had been certain Thorin felt the same and he hadn’t been able to stop himself. It had been everything he’d imagined and wanted.

This entire endeavor had been one mistake after another.

“I was talking about Denethor. The man is a pig. He- he must have heard. We,” he swallowed thickly and gave his head a shake, the axe grazed his throat, dragging at the skin there. “we had just kissed. Ori called me and I left him to see what he-”

“You kissed him?” Balin asked, turning to look at him. “And?”

“And what? I couldn’t help myself.”

“No, did anything happen? The curse?”

“No.”

“Wait, Beorn said they hadn’t ‘joined.’” Dwalin stated. He pulled the axe back a bit and frowned in thought. “It might not have been broken by a simple kiss. It doesn’t matter anyway.” He dropped the axe at his side and Balin did the same with his sword. “He’s taken off. Rukh’s hubm.” Dwalin growled with a shake of his greying hair. “He’ll be at Ered Luin by morning light.”

They’d already spent hours in this stupid glade. He was at least a days worth of riding away.

“Why were you talking?”

“Denethor sent us to find Thorin.”

“Why?”

He shared a glance with Ori who nodded his head. “Because Denethor threatened the Shire.” He swallowed and rubbed his eyes, feeling more tired than he had ever before. His chest ached and he felt like a failure. He’d been so stupid simply because he hadn’t told everything. “He said he would burn it if we refused him. We… we don’t have any defenses. We’re peaceful. I volunteered because I had a… well, I know a wizard. He assisted me. That’s how I got the bauble.”

“My brothers and I have lived with him for the last few years. Denethor has taken over the mountain. He’s power crazy. We didn’t want to help, but there are hundreds depending on us. Hobbits and dwarves.”

A screech unlike any other creature filled the air and made Bilbo’s blood freeze. He felt paralyzed for a horribly long moment, and then his breath fell away in a gasp as the stars overhead were blotted out. A giant winged something flew by, screaming at the air.

“Mahal save us.” Dwalin muttered, his eyes gazing upward. His axe was hefted towards the air again and there was a look of deep hate in his eyes.

The dragon flew towards Ered Luin and The Shire.

-[]-[]-[]-

It took longer to get up the mountain than it should have. The path was poorly made, and neglected. The city was quiet, and the people subdued. It might have been that they didn’t know who he was, or that something tragic had just happened.

Walking through the mass of dark clothes (nothing near as bright as he had glimpsed in the Shire) and dull greys was sobering. Thorin hadn’t been in particularly high spirits before, but now he was fighting a severe depression. His chest hurt and his back was sore from the strenuous flying the previous evening.

The people only spoke in whispers and avoided unnecessary eye contact. They hurried from place to place in hunched masses.

Thorin had not been part of a town for a very long while. He had not seen so many people in decades. He certainly hadn’t walked through crowded streets in over a century. Despite his long separation from such things, he knew something was very wrong with this town. Dale had always been lively and bright. Erebor herself had never been silent. Even when his father had fallen to depression and madness had started to claim his family.

The castle itself was far better kept than the town. Every stone gleamed and it was free from any growth. The grounds were well tended and the soldiers that guarded it were dressed in fine clothes that spoke more of lords than guards.

They eyed Thorin suspiciously but he stood tall. He requested an audience with their Lord and was granted an audience solely because he was so unusual.

Why were there no dwarves in this mountain? When he was younger Ered Luin had been a successful colony.

The halls were tall, similar in style to the Iron hills. They lacked the breathtaking brilliance of his home, but it was brighter. The stone was light grey, and if sun had been allowed in it would have been beautiful. They way was lit by torches instead, which made the space feel far smaller.

At the end of the columned hall there was a throne three times the height of an average man. It was made of stone and had a red, velvet cloth draped over it to make it appear soft. It would not be pleasant to sit on. An elderly man was perched on it. He was curved over with one arm resting on the arm of the throne and the other on his lap. He had long, wavy hair that was a mix of greys, with a few strands of black and white mixed in. His nose was sharp and slightly curved, as though it had been broken frequently in the course of his life and not set quite right. His eyes were small and pale, several shades lighter than Thorin’s were. They were closest to the shade of ice on a still winter morning. He was slim in build, though he tried to hide that fact with a thick coat made of velvet and fur. He had  circlet on his head that was made of mixed metals and didn’t quite fit his head.

“Hail Lord Denethor, sire of the Mountain!” He called when he entered. He strode down the carpet (which was overly embroidered and impractical for walking on) towards the throne with his head high and shoulders squared. “I am Thorin, son of Thrain, King under the Mountain. You have freed me, and I come to acknowledge that debt.”

Denethor’s eyes widened marginally and he stood up. “Indeed? And where are the knights I sent for you?”

Knights? Bilbo and Ori were hardly knights. They were citizens that had been tasked with something that should never have been their job. “I left there company.” Thorin stated simply. He neared the throne and stood tall in front of him. Denethor was probably a little over six feet tall. Thorin was just under five feet. Not that he’d had the time to measure himself in the last few years. His height was probably the only attractive attribute he had for his own kind. It did nothing but aggravate Thorin. It would be yet another person he had to look up at. Denethor eyed him as though he expected Thorin to bow.

That was certainly not going to happen. Thorin bowed only to the king of Erebor. He owed allegiance to none other, and he certainly didn’t bow to a mere Lord. After the long years of his captivity, he would not bow to the king of Erebor without a talk. “Then welcome. I trust you know why you were freed?”

“I was informed of your desires.” Denethor walked up to him, solemn and frowning. Thorin betrayed no emotion, positive or otherwise. The man paused for only a moment before walking around him slowly. He remained standing tall and tried not to think of golden curls flashing in firelight and blue eyes sparkling with starlight.

“You are far more handsome than most of your kin. You are next in line for Erebor, correct?” The compliment meant nothing to Thorin, and nettled him. He had no idea if he was still in line for Erebor. He hadn’t really had time for a chat. He chose to remain silent and level a long stare at the man.

Denethor’s grin turned utterly lecherous and made unease unfurl in Thorin’s stomach. He’d seen that exact gaze on a different face.

“Then let our union be equally beneficial. You will be free from the tower, and I will be a King.” Thorin opened his mouth to state that he hadn’t decided to marry the man yet, when a scream broke through the air. A faint rumble could be heard, and a horn blast. He turned his head towards the hall, thinking of the night his life had been ruined. The ground shook beneath his feet, and nausea flooded his system.

Then one word shouted made it through the chaos. “DRAGON!”

Thorin, without knowing at all why he knew, knew it was Arrâsumu. His enemy had found him.  

Bilbo had not finished him. They were fools, why had he not gone back to make certain the fire worm was dead? He had been injured, of course, but so had the dragon. He could have ended it then!

Denethor snarled and shoved Thorin before he could turn his head back to the man. “What have you done?”

A burning, fierce and terrible, was starting in his belly. Arrâsumu’s presence was calling to his own inner dragon. Was it intending to protect him or give him over to the dragon? He had certainly never submitted in the other form.

“Guards!” Denethor snapped, waving them over to him, “take him to the lowest dungeon, make sure the dragon can tell where he is. We must trap the beast there.”

Before Thorin could make any movements five guards were on him. He was gagged with a rough cloth that smelled of sweat and dirt, and his hands were shackled together. He fought as well as he could, but it was no use. They were larger and they had the advantage of numbers. He was dragged out of the hall and into a passage. They made it halfway down the dark hall when one of the guards pulled a dagger from their cloak. His palm was sliced and they pressed his bleeding hand to the wall every few hundred feet, leaving a scent trail.

They dove him deep into the mountain, and left a call that Arrâsumu would find. His captor would come for him.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

He was taken to a dark room made of solid stone. It was next to a vast cavern that was utterly empty. One that was large enough to fit a dragon.  The room they wanted him in was closed with an iron gate, a prison.

Outside he could hear the wild beast’s rampage. The crashes of its destruction as he was violently sought out.

How long had the dragon been chasing him? How long had he been followed without knowing it? He had clearly never been truly free.

Had the beast found his friends? Were Dwalin and Balin safe? (Even now he couldn’t think of the hobbit’s name.)

A snarl, louder than any he had yet heard blasted through the cavern, causing the walls of his make-shift prison to tremble. Panic gripped him in his stomach, and he thrashed wildly at the men who were trying to drag him into the prison.

He couldn’t be caught, not again. Someone shouted behind him as the beast’s bellows grew louder, and then he was hit on the back of the head. He slumped to the ground, unconscious and defenseless.

It was dark when he finally came to. His head pounded petulantly, and his chest felt like there was a great weight sitting atop it. He couldn’t really think, and his body felt horribly stiff. He gave his head a hard shake and moved his arms to his sides. Well, he tried to move his arms to his sides. A strange rattling noise echoed in the air, and his arms jerked when he tried to pull them. He gave his head another shake, blinked, and tilted his head down to see what was going on. He had to blink again to clear his vision, and he found his jaw clenching in anger.

Someone had _dared_ to chain him like a common criminal. The shackles were heavy things that connected to his feet as well. He had been fettered. He wouldn’t be able to do anything.

He swallowed thickly, hoping to clear his aching head and help relieve the pressure in his chest. It didn’t do anything but bring awareness to the fact that his throat was also sore.

“Thorin.” The voice, deep and powerful in the most terrible of ways, made Thorin jolt upright without any grace, or care. The cave he was locked in was extremely dark, but for two glowing things in the distance. Eyes, familiar and nightmarish.

“Arrâsumu.” The word came out painfully, and hardly his own. It wasn’t a question, but a statement, one he filled with hate.

“You fled from me.” The eyes seemed to flare brighter, and they certainly drew closer. Thorin staggered to his feet, unwilling to be helpless on the ground when the dragon came for him. He knew with a deep certainty what it was that Arrâsumu wanted from him, and he would never give it willingly.

There was a wall half a dozen feet behind him, and he made his way towards it with small steps, his head dizzy with pain and something akin to panic. “And will continue to do so. I am not yours to have, Arrâsumu.”

“You have only ever been _mine_. Mine to guard, to protect, to _posses_.” The last word was snarled, and a brief flicker of flame licked through the air and lit the cavern. The bars were still in place, so Arrâsumu would have to break through them at the least. “I am your master, no other! You answer to my will!”

The dragon was entirely insane. He was blinded by lust and the need to posses. He saw Thorin as nothing but a treasure. One he was intent on taking.

“Dragon!” A new voice, one Thorin didn’t quite know, rang in the hall and Arrâsumu, who was getting freakily close, turned his head. Thorin’s eyes were nearly adjusted to the darkness. Dwarves were made to see in caves, it was a gift for their work, and one he had never been so grateful for. Arrâsumu was a dark mass in front of him, solid in the way of dragons, but almost...smaller, than he had been. He blamed it on the vast cavern. “Dragon! I would have a word with you!”

“What have you to say to me, Mountain Lurker? You who have no power.”

“I have an offer for you, great Dragon!” The voice grew louder and Thorin’s stomach dropped in recognition. He pushed the hate and anger away and focused on keeping a clear head. He would find an escape. “You have no greater desire than Thorin, correct?”

The dragon made no reply, but his eyes flared with an evil light. “Then I offer you his life, for as long as it may last. It is mine to give, as he will die without my aid.”

Smoke rolled from Arrâsumu’s nostrils, his eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“He has contracted a poison from his ‘friends.’ One that only I have the cure for. If you remain here in this cavern, guarding the dwarf and my kingdom, I will give it to him.”

“Why would I trust you?”

The weight on Thorin’s chest seemed to grow even worse. His vision was swimming and he realized he was gasping. It was hard to stay upright. He opened his mouth and tried to suck in air, but it did nothing to ease the pain. He was gasping, loudly, and to no avail.

Arrâsumu’s head turned towards him. Noise like thunder crashed through the cavern and the ground shook as the dragon surged forward.

He fell to a knee and dropped his hands to the ground. He hung his head and violently coughed, lamenting the loss of air as his ears roared. Denethor had drugged him while he was unconscious. He had betrayed him so as to trap a dragon.

He couldn’t speak the words. Nothing he did made the burning ease.

“Stop!”

“Swear that you will do as I ask!”

“No!”

He sank lower, hating himself as he did so, but utterly unable to hold his body up. The roaring was nearly enough to drown out all other noise. “Swear by magic and I will save him!”

“While you live, I will protect your castle. I will stay in this cavern unless you call. As long as Thorin Thrainson has life blood, and is mine, I swear it.”

The room seemed to brighten as Arrâsumu spoke, and the air practically crackled with magic. A high laugh echoed around the chambers, nearer than the voice had been. A rattling noise echoed somewhere beyond him, and then clanking footsteps headed towards him.

He couldn’t move. Everything burned. It was so very close to the feeling of transformation, but it had a terrible finality to it.

A quick pain flashed across his arm, but he couldn’t react to it. Then the footsteps sounded again, but they were going away. He gasped wildly, and there was finally air to be had. He sucked at it, great lungfuls that made him cough, but he hardly cared.

He pushed himself up with strength he didn’t know he had. Denethor was in front of the cell, holding the bars with a guard at his side. Arrâsumu’s eyes blazed behind him, angry and intent.

“Ishkh khakfe andu null.” He growled, a hate unlike anything he had ever felt, or probably would ever feel for anything else, flooding through his body.

Denethor’s eyes gleamed like ice in the sun. Bright and utterly cold. “With a dragon I can simply take what I wish. Who would dare to defy me? All that he required was you Thorin. What loss is that to me? I will now have two dragons.”  He smiled, thin and wicked. “It was never my intention to free you. I merely intended to move your prison.”

-[]-[]-[]-

It was cold, despite the fact that Arrâsumu was steadily breathing puffs of flame that he seemed unable to control in his anger. Even in his rest, the dragon blew fire.

The fierce ache in his chest had all but disappeared with the hours. He had not spoken since Denethor’s departure, and Arrâsumu had not either. He had simply curled up in a tight ball and seethed quietly while Thorin watched. He’d drifted to sleep and seemed to seethe even in his repose.

He hadn’t turned into a dragon. It was undoubtedly late, but he was still a dwarf. It was infuriating that the curse would force him to remain human when it would be useful to transform.

He needed an escape plan. Some way to get out of the cell and then slip through the cavern without drawing Arrâsumu’s attention. He had no doubt that with the morning would come Arrâsumu’s attempt at ‘possessing’ him. He would fight with all that he had, with little care of preserving his life. With his death, the dragon would burn the kingdom. He had no doubt.

He dropped his head back against the wall he was sitting by-he was still chained- and thumped it twice. It made a faint echo ring through the vast cavern, but Arrâsumu slumbered on.

“Thank Mahal, I was afraid I’d have to find you by luck.” Thorin’s head jerked up and his limbs tensed at the utterly unknown voice.

Arrâsumu’s snore echoed through the cavern, no other sound rose. He remained still, uncertain if the voice had been real or if he was simply going made from the dark silence.

He blinked slowly, focusing on hearing, and very nearly missed a figure darting in front of his cage.

“Shh!” It whispered as it knelt in front of the cell door. It was covered in a purple cloak so Thorin couldn’t make anything out about it, except that his voice was too low to be a female. “Sorry, highness. Would have been here sooner but dragon’s are harder to put to sleep than you’d think. Magic or not.”

What?

The lock to the cell released with a resounding click and a small ‘yes’ from his jail-breaker. The door was carefully pushed open and Thorin surged to his feet as the short figure strode in. “No time to explain. I’m going to need you to hold still for a moment while I release you. We’ll have to go at it slow, you can’t run with the poison. It won’t quite have worked it’s way out of your system yet.”

The dwarf-for that was what it had to be-stopped in front of him, and then two glove-covered hands were worming their way out of the massive cloak to grab his shackles. The dwarf fiddled with them, and then they were falling from his wrist. The dwarf caught them before they could hit the ground and set them aside gently as he knelt. “My friends sent me to make certain we got you to safe ground.” The dwarf explained as he worked at the  manacles with obvious experience. They too slipped off his bare feet. The dwarf deposited it all on the ground and stood up right as Thorin started to sway.

The dizziness struck quickly and entirely unexpectedly. He gasped in sharply, hating the pain of it. “Woah,” hands settled respectfully on his arms and steadied him. “Easy, highness. Can’t have you falling and waking the big guy. That would make for a rather difficult exit.”

“Why are you here?”

The dwarf tipped his head up and Thorin caught a glimpse of vibrant red hair and bright, blue eyes. “Because Tharkûn is paranoid and frequently correct. He warned us that you’d be betrayed by the Steward if we tried to get you out of your tower like we were ordered.”

The name was vaguely familiar… As if from a story he had not heard since he was a child. One filled with wonder and danger. He couldn’t quite recall it, it was just on the wrong side of his memory. “Us?”

“My brothers, cousins, and my betrothed’s family. Not much, but we’re quite good in a pinch. Now, if you’re steady, it’s time to get out, highness.”

The dwarf took a step back and released Thorin’s arms. He took a tentative step forward and paused as the dragon’s snore once again echoed through the cavern. He had nothing to lose in following the dwarf, and would follow him regardless, but he needed to know. “Who are you?”

The dwarf turned his head to face him, and pushed his cloak back. Blue eyes, oddly familiar, and spiking ginger hair greeted him, along with a thoroughly mischievous smile. He bowed at the waist and when he stood up, his smile was even wider. “Nori, son of Norn. Older brother of Ori.” 


	13. Chapter 13

The only obvious resemblance between the two dwarves was in their eyes, though Ori’s held a bit more weariness than his older brother’s. They were extremely knowing for one so young.

“Highness,” Nori said as he gave Thorin a gentle push towards the right to a path he hadn’t seen in his dizziness.

“Thorin.” He bit the word out more sharply than he’d intended, but Nori did not appear to mind. It was irritatingly dark, but the dwarf’s smile could still be seen. They were over halfway around the cavern, and Arrâsumu’s snores echoed around the cavern reassuringly.

“Alright.”

“What is the plan when we escape this cavern?”

“Retreat.” Was Nori’s one word answer while he climbed up a narrow step. He turned around and held a hand out to Thorin who tried not to glare at it. His head was pounding horribly and his muscles felt sore.

He should _never_ need a hand for something so simple as steps. Still, he could not let pride stop him from escaping, and putting Nori in danger while he did so.

“Retreat?”

“Yeah. We’ll slip down the corridors, hopefully Bifur took care of the guards, and go through one of the nearly secret passages.” Thorin raised his eyebrow and Nori grinned a little sheepishly as they made their way higher. “Only the dwarves know of its existence. It was made by our kind, and is hard to see.” Nori turned his head over his shoulder, studying the path behind himself before facing Thorin again. “Right, we’ll be turning left now, Thorin, then going down a dark corridor. Hope you don’t think this weird, but I’ll need you to hold my hand.” He winked and Thorin felt off-footed. He wasn’t certain how to handle the teasing dwarf.

“You already have my hand.” He reminded as he made it up another step. Nori gave him a gentle push and there was, surprisingly, a path to the left. They started down it while Nori flashed a toothy smile.

“Cheeky! I was expecting you’d be stoic.”

“I can manage it if you would prefer.” He replied dryly. Going straight was better than the narrow twist of the cavern. It felt more real now. Escape was tangible, something he could very nearly taste.

“I’m sorry we weren’t here in time to prevent the poisoning. We were warned he’d probably try it, but there was nothing to be done.”

“Why are you freeing me?”

Nori jerked his head to face Thorin, and very nearly led them into the wall. He did draw to a full stop and turn to face him. “What?”

Thorin held a steady gaze and squared his shoulders. “Why have you risked your life to free me?”

Nori rubbed the side of his head and started back down the path, dragging Thorin along. “You mean beside hating Denethor? Not including the fact you’re the heir to Erebor? That you’d make a right better king of Ered Luin then Denethor? Or the fact that Bilbo is one of my best mates and is rather crazy for you? Because I think think you’d be someone worth following and it is a disgrace to the entire dwarf world that you have spent so long imprisoned.”

“Bilbo has lied to me-”

“No offense, highness, but we can discuss that when we’re out. In the mean time I’d like to focus on seeing the sun again.”

-[]-[]-[]-

“You are kidding, right?” Dwalin could not have sounded less impressed with Number 3 Bag-Shot Row if he had tried. Bilbo didn’t care in the slightest though. It was their headquarters while they regrouped. If the raven had arrived like he hoped, then a rescue would already be started.

“Nope. This is where we’re having to stay. My home is being watched.” He pushed the back door to the hobbit hole open and ushered the three dwarves inside while he looked over his shoulder. There were no guards out, and no sign that the dragon had stopped by on its flight.

He slipped in after them, securing the door and dusting his feet off before walking inside. “I’ll take your cloak, Mister Bilbo.” A young hobbit stepped in front of him with wide eyes and outstretched hands. Bilbo unclasped his cloak and passed it to the lad with a soothing smile.

“Thank you, Samwise. Where are the others?” Sam pointed down the hall and Bilbo went that way with the other three following. He didn’t say anything, even with Balin and Dwalin glaring. His neck still ached from the cut Dwalin’s axe had given him, and his heart throbbed with each beat.

He would find Thorin again or die trying.

The others had already set up a rather respectable debriefing on the dining table. Bofur was pouring over one of the maps with Dori, and Bombur was helping Mrs. Gamgee with Breakfast. The dwarves looked up as he entered, and Dori cried out. He rushed across the room to wrap Ori up in a hug, and Bilbo dived out of the way of the charging dwarf.

“Everyone, this is Dwalin and Balin. They’re-”

“The ones that were locked up with his highness.” Oin stood up from the table with a frown, his eyes on Bilbo’s throat. “What happened to you, lad?”

“What is this?” Balin asked, his eyes wide.

“The resistance.” Bofur said without looking up from his map. He had a pipe in his mouth and frown on his lips. “Bifur, Gloin, and the twins are already at the mountain. Nori is working on releasing him. Last we heard.” Bofur’s brown eyes met his quickly, worry evident in them. Bilbo felt a pang of sympathy.

He now knew what it was to worry over a loved one.

Oin’s hands fussed at his neck but he batted them away while he explained things to the others a bit more properly. “Remember how I told you that we were persecuted by Denethor? Everyone here has been sentenced to death by him. As far as he’s aware they’re all dead. I volunteered to get Thorin in hopes that he could stop Denethor… but. Well… you know what happened.”

“Tharkûn had us ready four days ago.”

“Who?”

“The wizard.” Bilbo answered shortly. He stepped towards the maps Bofur had spread out. “When can we head out? Ered Luin is three days ride.”

“We’re going to have to do it in less. Gandalf sent us horses from Beorn. It’ll be difficult, but they’re well trained. We’re leaving after Breakfast, if you all are ready.”

Bilbo didn’t even bother to look at his companions. “We will be.” Dinner would be another two hours… He wasn’t that hungry. He’d take a nap in the interim. They could travel later that way.

-[]-[]-[]-

“Here,” Nori shoved something that was wrapped in a handkerchief into his hand. “You should eat. I doubt they’ve fed you since you arrived. We need you strong and focused.” Thorin unwrapped it slowly, his stomach suddenly grumbling violently. He hadn’t even noticed his hunger. He hadn’t eaten since he’d left the others.

How long had that been? Two days at least, though he had lost a fair bit of time in there…

The corridor seemed to stretch on endlessly in either direction. Still, Nori never hesitated in his stride. He knew what was at the other end of the looming darkness, and was determined to reach it.

A simple sandwich was hidden in the handkerchief. Dry bread with a bit of ham and cheese, but it was delicious.

“Is everything alright, highness? We’re nearly at the end.”

Thorin blinked up from the empty handkerchief. He didn’t make a response but examined the path again. There was still nothing decipherable. He wondered why he had become ‘highness’ again. “Bifur will be waiting. He has an axe embedded in his head, just so you know. It can take one a bit by surprise. He doesn’t mind staring though.”

He.... had no idea what to say to that. “In-”

“Here!” Nori jerked forward a few feet and pressed his hands against the wall to their left. The path stretched darkly forward, no end insight. “We just have to find the-ah-ha! The wall slipped open, light pouring into the tunnel that had Thorin staggering back and bringing his hand up to cover his eyes.

“Badùzhmênu.” (You’re late.)

Nori scowled as a tall, broad figure stepped in the doorway, blocking a little of the late. “Well excuse us. It’s over a mile of walking, I’ll have you know! Now move aside and let us through. His highness is tired, and we’ve a long way to go yet.”

“Melhekhuh.” (My king) The dwarf said with a bow as he stepped aside. Thorin followed Nori out, feeling off kilter and blind. His eyes were adjusting to the brightness grudgingly slow.

He wasn’t a king. At least not yet.

“Right. We are heading towards the Shire. It’ll be easier to hide him there until Tharkûn arrives and offers the aid he promised.”

“Tharkûn rudurbuzh.” (Tharkûn  is slow.) Bifur, apparently, stated decisively. Nori nodded with a snort and shoved the door shut again. It blended seamlessly with the rock, and Thorin was finally able to focus on their surroundings. The mountain rose up behind them, glistening in the moonlight, which should not have been so bright. Bifur held a torch and he did indeed have a bit of an axe sticking out of his head.

He managed not to gape.

“Where are the -” Nori’s question, whatever it might have been, was cut short as two more dwarves dashed up beside them. Thorin looked towards them and realized they were on a path that led up the and down the side of the mountain.

“Sorry we’re late.”

“The guards were slower in sleeping than we’d hoped.”

“But we got Sebastian back with a message.”

“They’re a few hours out. We think they-oh!”

The two dwarves talked back and forth between panted breaths. One had thick, blond hair that was heavily plated, and wore furs that had seen a lot of travel. The other was thinner, looked younger, and had dark hair that was clasped back. His beard had barely started to grow in, and he had wool on.

They both looked oddly familiar.

The dark haired one froze as he spoke, his eyes going wide as saucers as he took Thorin in. The blond turned to face Thorin as well, his eyes darting all over his form almost hungrily. He didn’t look like much in his bedraggled clothes, wrecked hair, and dirt covered self. Still… he felt as if he knew them.

“Thorin?”

“I am he.”

The brunette dwarf made a muffled noise and then he was lunging forward, the blond right behind him, and their arms wrapped around Thorin in a tight hug. He remained utterly immobile, uncertain of what was going on.

“Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, king under the mountain, let me introduce you to Fili and Kili, son of Dis, daughter of the king.” Nori said in a subdued tone, his eyes intent.

Thorin couldn’t quite breathe. His arms wrapped around the two dwarves automatically while his brain tried to make sense of what he’d just heard. His sister had had children? Two boys?

They smelled like his sister. Like _home_.

“How can this be?”

“She’s sent dwarf after dwarf to free you. We’ve been told stories about you since the day we were born. We made our way here in hopes of finding Tharkûn. We thought he could aid us.”

“How is Dis?”

“Eager to be reunited.” the blond dwarf said as he pulled back. He had his mother’s eyes. He recognized her hair in the other dwarf. “Kili, come on, we have to keep moving.”

“I’ve waited my entire _life_ to hug my uncle.” Kili stated petulantly. Fili gave his golden head a shake, his eyes were shiny.

“So have I, you oaf, and I’ve waited longer.”

“You are fifteen minutes older than me.”

His sister had birthed twins. _Twins_.

Kili pulled away, tears streaking down his cheeks, and smiled. A large, beaming thing that had Thorin remembering summer afternoons with his little sister.

“Come along then. We have to see a wizards about a bauble.”


	14. Chapter 14

Dragons, even dragons buried deep in a mountain, were not quiet when they awoke. Nor did they even attempt to mask their rage.

The entire mountain seemed to tremble as a roar ripped through it. Bilbo gripped the horses mane (because Asfaloth would not be bridled by anyone) tighter and hunched down against the white neck as another terrible shout shook the foundations of the earth.

The horses all reared for a moment, panicked whinnies filling the air as their hooves stomped against the ground. A moment later and they charged forward, attacking the road with determined abandon.

The plans had gone so very, very wrong. None of it was supposed to happen like this. They were supposed to bring Thorin to Denethor, who would attempt to marry the dwarf. Thorin would see the horror in Ered Luin, meet with the resistance, and refuse the Lord. He would then take his place as king, being the rightful heir. Denethor would no longer be ruler.

Such a stupidly simple plan.

He’d always thought it cruel to pretend they wished to marry Thorin off, especially with how sacred dwarves held marriage to be, but as they hadn’t actually intended on it happening, it seemed a small sacrifice to give the people of Ered Luin and the Shire a better life. Thorin would be free as well. He could hardly complain.

Then he’d met the dwarf, and fallen quite in love with him. He simply couldn’t have, feelings aside, given the dwarf to Denethor. Thorin had been robbed of far too much in his life to steal that as well. If there was even the slightest chance Denethor could have Thorin’s hand, Bilbo would not allow it. He had intended on revealing their plan in the morning. Ori had been warning him of the dangers, but Thorin had hard.

Now Denethor had betrayed them all and taken Thorin captive. The dragon was in Ered Luin, and they had such little time to break Thorin free. Nori was the best thief he had ever met. Bifur was mad, certainly, but he was unparalleled in fighting. Fili and Kili would stop at nothing to free Thorin, but it was so dangerous and Gandalf was days away.

Maybe if they’d all been honest from the beginning it could have all been avoided. It had seemed like the only way to avoid a war.

Another bellow made Bilbo’s stomach turn violently.

“Mahimesh!” (make ready) Oin hollered from the front of the riders. His horse slowed down and the others followed his lead. Bofur drew to a sudden stop, his head craning sharply to the right and narrowing in concentration.

“Ikhuzh!” (stop) He snapped suddenly, pushing up until he was nearly standing on the saddle. “Bifur!” A bird call echoed through the air and Bilbo narrowed his eyes in concentration, straining to hear. Bofur made a cawing noise in return, that was answered by two short chirps.

“They’re here.” Bombur relaid, as if anyone didn’t understand. A moment later and five dwarves were appearing at the top of the cliff. Bifur was in lead, with Nori at his side. Thorin was right behind them, with the twins bringing up the rear.

Bilbo’s chest gave a startlingly hard thump at the sight of him.

“Make for the cave!” Nori shouted as he slipped and slid his way down the slope. Bofur nodded his head and turned his horse around. The other horses followed his lead while the two rider-free horses went to the cliff. They knelt down for Nori, Bifur, Fili, and Kili, while Balin’s knelt to allow Thorin on. They then stood up and galloped towards the cave. It was a large thing, one that Nori frequently used on his travels. Bilbo had only been in it once.

There was a confusing moment of dismounting, shouts, and whinnies, warm bodies too close and hair everywhere, while they all swarmed into the cave. Thorin was dragged to the middle of the group while Bilbo helped Nori and Bofur drag everything further into the cave. The roars were getting louder.

Khuzdul was being muttered by everyone, too quickly for Bilbo to properly decipher.

“He woke up a half a day ago. Angry. We haven’t much time. Did you bring the-”

“Of course. Oin’ll get it on him. Are you alright?”  The only thing that belaid the worry Bilbo knew Bofur was feeling was the gentle hand he placed on the thief’s shoulder, his fingertips brushing against Nori’s throat and the bead in his beard that marked him as Bofur’s.

“Grand. The king is a little bit more stubborn than I thought he would be.” Nori eyed Bilbo with a small grin. “I imagine you know a little bit about that though, right?”

“Just a little.”

“He’ll listen to you now. Though, you may want to be careful to mention names in your future discussions? Okay?”

The dragon’s roar filled the sky.

-[]-[]-[]-

“Sorry about this.” Were the only two words the white haired dwarf spoke before a bucket was being tipped over Thorin’s head. It made the dragon in his chest roar in rage, and had him reeling back, right into Dwalin’s waiting arms. Balin wasted no time stepping in front of him and smearing the offending, foul, sticky, stuff in his hair and on his neck. They smelled horribly of it-which explained why he hadn’t recognized their scents when the group of dwarrows arrived.

“Sorry lad.” Balin muttered, frowning at the texture of the stuff. It was making Thorin’s very skin crawl, and he wanted to be sick. “Masks your scent from the dragon. They apparently can’t stand the scent.”

“I hardly blame them.” Thorin managed between his clenched teeth. His heart surged at the sight of his dwarrows even while his body tried to rage against the smell. He inhaled sharply through his mouth and it helped in calming his heart from the furious pace it was setting. Other dwarrows crowded near. They were all shapes and sizes, all ages, all types. He didn’t recognize any that hadn’t traveled with him, though he could see a bit of family resemblance in them. There were even a few hobbits mixed in.

His hobbit was at the back, aiding Nori, Fili, and another hobbit in pulling supplies into the cave.

Thorin quickly focused back on the dwarrows in front of him while a blanket was draped on his shoulders. It did little to aid the chill in the cave and seemed to possess no warmth.

“What did they give you?” The white haired dwarf-apparently a healer- asked as he inspected a slice on Thorin’s arm.

“I was not told. It was administered through a cut.” He held up his hand to show the dwarf. It had mostly clotted over, though it looked ghastly.  

“Cowards.” The dwarf spat. He pulled a clean cloth from his jacket and set to cleaning the injury.

“We didn’t exactly expect anything else, Oin.” Another grey haired dwarf said. He moved his way between the other dwarrows with a basket of food. “I imagine you haven’t had much and the sandwiches I packed Nori would have long left you. It’s not much, but it’ll give you something.” He could recognize the scent of eggs and ham, and it made his mouth water. He had not eaten much, and had lost what little food he had in a horrible bout of dizziness.

Nori was hanging a large blanket in front of the small entrance to the cave while Bilbo made his way over to Ori. Thorin couldn’t quite look at him yet. There were other paths behind him that peaked his curiosity, but he ignored them for the moment.

“Let him sit down.” A dwarf with a ridiculous hat said. He had his arm around Nori and was dragging him away from the cave’s entrance. “He has to be tired, and we’ll need him fully healed soon.”

“There’s a fair bit to tell you as well.” Balin added, meeting Thorin’s eyes with a warm smile.

They ended up in a bit of a pile. Thorin was seated against the furthest wall with Dwalin and Balin at his sides. Fili and Kili were in front of them. The rest of the dwarrows were piled around them, leaving very little space. Bilbo and Ori were at the back, and they were tending to the supplies while murmuring to themselves.

The story was finally told in full.

Denethor had claimed the rule of Ered Luin and ruled it as if he were a king. He was cruel to the dwarrows it belonged to, and threatened to burn the Shire. His people lived in poverty while his own coffers were filled. A wizard had seen their misery and gathered a group of dejected hobbits and dwarrows. He had then given them quite a plan.

Apparently Thorin was not only the heir to Erebor, he also had the right to claim Kingship over Ered Luin. Bilbo had fed the Lord the story of Thorin’s captivity with the intent of making him think that he would be a true king with Thorin at his side. They would free him from the tower, bring him back, and he would take the throne. They’d let Denethor think Thorin was unaware of what the man wanted while they secretly told him all in the Shire.

They had apparently intended that he not marry Denethor, but he would be the king regardless.

He was flattered, in a way, and deeply offended on other levels. It was painful to realize that no one had ever thought of his happiness, but gratifying to know they had believed he would be a just king.

His nephews had been unaware of the plan to marry him to Denethor. They’d believed they were just using the man to free Thorin. They had heard that they could finally free him, and had agreed without any other motivation.

Bilbo had apparently gone to Ori with the intention of changing their plans. He thought they should simply have Thorin go in as a dragon so they could easily subdue Denethor.

He didn’t quite dare to ask why. He was certain in his gut, in the place below his heart that had burned steadily since his eyes had landed on the hobbit.

He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t a dragon yet. Balin kept staring at him curiously, while Ori discussed something quietly with Dwalin. There were frequent gestures in his direction that he ignored.

A new planned clearly needed to be made, and quickly. They couldn’t very well just hide in the cave indefinitely. They needed to get Denethor out of Ered Luin. He knew almost nothing about the kingdom, and did not particularly wish to rule it, but he would not allow the false king to make his people suffer any longer.

He had seen what had become of the city. She was impoverished and her people starving. The Shire was under constant threat, and could not provide for all the people in need. He would remove Denethor from the throne.

“Gandalf should arrive the day after tomorrow. He’s bringing along a wizard that is gifted with animals. Maybe he’ll be of use against the dragon.” Bilbo’s voice drifted among the other voices, twisting and mingling with them. In no way special, but unable to be ignored by Thorin. It made his skin tingle just to hear the hobbit speak. His ears seemed trained for that voice above all others.

“Can we wait that long? If he doesn’t find me he may head for the Shire.” He met sea-green eyes across the cave, their gaze seeming to pierce him to his very soul. He could feel something shifting in his chest. Something becoming certain and hard as stone. Something that would withstand time and endure through any pain.

He had known for a while, but it could not prepare him for the reality of accepting Bilbo. He had not spoken to the hobbit alone, and did not truly know the hobbit’s heart, but he believed his nephews and Nori. Balin too had explained, and he truly believed that it had been a misunderstanding.

He wasn’t certain where they went from here. There wouldn’t be time for anything, not with doom looming so near. He could not allow himself the pleasure of Bilbo’s presence until after they had driven Denethor away.

“We’re afraid of that. He’ll either go to Ered Luin or to the Shire. Neither one will survive the assault. When he is finished with it, he will turn to the other until there is nothing left.”

Dwalin was endlessly optimistic. Thorin would need to speak with him about such things. The point was to encourage the dwarves into storming the castle. Not to make them despair for everything they hoped.

“Then it is useful that he desires me and that Denethor did not keep to his word. I have merely to present myself to the dragon and he will do whatever I wish.”

“If you stay with him.” Balin countered, a hint of warning in his tone. Bilbo’s eyes darted between them, panicked and uncertain.

“I have no intention of remaining with him.” He turned his gaze on Bilbo and allowed it stay unflinchingly. His chest was warm and the air felt thicker. “Do you truly believe your wizard can stop him?”

“He certainly thinks so.” The words were little more than a quiet murmur. Hardly enough to account for the effect they had on Thorin.

“Then we will have to trust him. Can all of you enter the castle unseen?”

“I can handle that.” Nori stated before anyone else could possibly respond. His hand tightened around Bofur’s, and Thorin felt his heart constrict. He didn’t want any of these dwarves to be in danger.

“Then we will try tomorrow.”


End file.
